


reality is broken (the stars are so wrong here)

by PhantomFox



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Assault, Biting, Choking, Confusion, Crack, F/F, F/F/M Relationship, F/M, Forced sleeping, Hurt No Comfort, Kissing, Look me in the eye, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Tags Are Hard, Things Not Meant For Human Eyes, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Fingering, Whump, and tell me that Asmo is not a service top, are utterly terrifying thank you goodbye, biblical descriptions of angels, does not follow canon timeline, forced stripping, in the fact that she is not from this universe, mentions of - Freeform, migraines, references to, should have mentioned that eariler :D, somewhat dark?, with a straight face. i'll wait.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFox/pseuds/PhantomFox
Summary: Sharya Moonchaser was-until recently, anyway-a Jedi Knight, before being broken and claimed by a Sith lord and a mandalorian. How in the galaxy did she end up a student in the Devildom?!Crack. Crack crack crack and an excuse to traumatize a character created for Star Wars. Literally crack.10/5/2020--no longer on hiatus, but posting schedule will be. interesting. *eyes the half-written chapters waiting in the wings*
Comments: 26
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the Hands of the Sith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233624) by [PhantomFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomFox/pseuds/PhantomFox). 



> the adventures of Sharya Moonchaser (and Larec and Naasade) can be found in In the Hands of the Sith, which is still being worked on. it is very, very explicit, but this particular fic is crack and something that my brain wouldn't let go of. i blame KoohiCafe for every bit of this, her and her tumblr posts.
> 
> for any who are curious, this takes place about two chapters after the last published chapter of my main fic (currently chapter 12), so minor spoilers for anyone coming over from that story. 
> 
> also, i'm an impatient bitch. these are much shorter than my usual work, and will be posted as soon as i'm happy with them. which means like, now, i guess.

Stumbling through the door, Sharya paled as she looked around; the metal hallways of the imperial citadel had vanished, taken over by huge blocks of stone, and she couldn't feel Naasade or Larec anywhere. What’s worse is that the force had utterly changed, going alien and slightly _wrong_ as she reached for it, and the feel of the stone underhand made her hug herself instead, not wanting to touch it; just as alien, the walls echoed with a sinister energy, but it was dark without the pain and hatred of Dromund Kaas, and she abruptly wondered. Was she still on the same planet?

Just then, light flickered far away, and she called after it nervously; it felt as if a cavern was open behind her, a vacuum wanting to suck her back, and she sped her pace, trying to pull away from that hungry emptiness. “Hey, hold on!”

The light was actually much dimmer than she had originally thought; she was almost to the end of the dark hallway before she knew it, an arching portal that let out onto a huge, echoing room that was almost as large as the one she had just left. Purple and gold banners were draped in between slender, gothic windows that showed a single white moon hanging far too low in a purple-blue sky, and if she didn’t know any better, she would have said that she was in a courtroom, and that wasn’t right either; it hadn’t even been noon when the guards had appeared to try and arrest her, there was no way she had been in that hallway or the council chamber long enough for the storms to clear and night to fall.

She couldn’t even draw on the force to help calm the shivering that was beginning in her limbs; it was sluggish, moving slow and thick to pool heavy inside her, and she shuddered, cutting herself off to try and get rid of the sticky wrongness of it. 

“Welcome to the Devildom, Sharya!”

What?

“Oh, pardon me,” that same faintly accented voice announced, sounding a little less enthusiastic, and she finally located the person speaking. “Feeling a bit shocked, are we?”

In the middle of the room, in between a tall dais that stood beneath the banners and a long, heavy table with straight-backed carved chairs, was a cluster of five young men, dressed in oddly militaristic uniforms. Slowly approaching—absently noting the smell of candle wax and smoke, and some sort of strong incense that didn’t quite cover up a coppery tang—Sharya made her way up the lines of dark benches, eyeing the group warily. They didn’t feel like Jedi, and they didn’t exude the same air of menace Sith did, but something was setting off the part of her brain that had been honed to sense danger, no matter that the group seemed to be patiently waiting for her to get closer. 

The auburn-haired man who had spoken seemed the friendliest (he was wearing a different uniform, one that looked to be the deliberate negative of the others, red where theirs was black, the medallion hanging from his right shoulder laced onto a blue and white ribbon instead of red and white; under her mounting confusion and fear, she wondered what the significance was), and she nodded at him when she remembered he’d asked a question. Her eyes kept going to the tall, black-haired man standing at his side, but while his hair was dark, there was no silver edging it, and the pale skin around red eyes and mouth was smooth and unlined. Otherwise, he might have been a much younger brother to her master, but she shivered at the cool interest in those red eyes as he watched her.

“Well, that’s understandable. You’ve only just arrived, after all,” the man said, nodding to himself and crossing his arms over his chest. “As a human, it will probably take a little while for you to adjust to things here in the Devildom.”

“The.. Devildom,” she repeated faintly, swallowing and casting another glance up at the moon. It was so bright that she couldn’t see any of the stars in the cloudless sky around it.

“Yes, exactly!” As if excited by her parroting, he brightened again, gold eyes closing with how wide his grin stretched. “I see that you catch on quickly. Excellent. All me to introduce myself.” He made a polite, somewhat unpracticed bow towards her, and she blinked at the wince that flickered across the black-haired man’s face. The bow hadn’t been that bad, all things considered, and then her brain stopped at his next words. “I am Diavolo, the ruler of all demons, and someday soon, I’ll be crowned king of the demons.” Straightening from the bow with a flourish, he spread his arms out to indicate the building around them. “Welcome to the Royal Academy of Diavolo!”

“What.” Caught by the absurdity of this man naming a school after himself (as well as claiming to be a demon, what even?), she started when he reached out and grabbed at her hand, jerking away hard enough that he stumbled. “Don’t touch me,” she demanded, voice going shrill as she wrapped her arms around herself. The shaking that had started in her hands was sinking deeper, beginning to feel like her bones were trying to tremble in her skin. What was going on? Where in the galaxy _was she?_

A resounding echo made her realize that she’d said that out loud, a half panicked cry that made the men surrounding her stare and she felt her cheeks start heating at her outburst. How could this day get any worse? 

“My lord,” the black-haired man started smoothly, voice a deep rumble. “May I have a word?”

“Of course,” Diavolo replied, still looking puzzled by her reaction. The others were watching her curiously, and she backed up a step, drawing on the force; it still felt off and horrible, but she’d rather have that than nothing (her lightsaber had been taken by the guard she’d been following, as if she was foolish enough to try and use it in the imperial citadel), and she wrapped it around herself in a shield that felt as substantial as a soap bubble. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Sharya.”

And how did he know her name? 

Shuddering, she backed up more, until something bumped into the back of her legs and she jumped, spinning to see what had touched her. It was only the edge of a bench, and she crumbled into it, huddling into the corner of the seat, tensely watching the two groups. The three that had yet to speak glanced between themselves before seeming to come to a wordless agreement; one of the blonds, pale with an absurdly long ash blond fringe and odd, orange-gold eyes, languidly made his way over to her, while the tall redhead grumbled something about being hungry and wandered to the table. Releasing a sigh, the other blond followed, green-blue eyes curious under golden hair.

“So, pretty thing,” the pale blond said, leaning down so that he didn’t loom over her; his nails had been painted, she noticed, barely able to keep from cringing away from the faint _want_ he was projecting. At least he didn’t drag his eyes up and down her body like others had often done upon first meeting her, gaze remaining firmly on her face. “I am Asmodeus, but you can call me Asmo. I am the Avatar of Lust,” he finished coyly, orange-gold eyes going hooded. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Her Jedi master had pounded all kinds of manners into her head as she raised Sharya and her sister, and Larec had only made sure that she remembered them at all times, but the most she could manage was a confused, shaky, “Hi?” (Was any of that supposed to mean something to her? Was it like a Sith title?)

Off towards the dais, Diavolo and Larec’s doppelganger were still muttering.

“...mistaken? No, it’s not possible…”

“...the spell could have…”

“Ah, yes,” Asmodeus grinned, head tilting towards the two. “Our eldest brother will always prefer speaking to Lord Diavolo rather than the rest of us. It’s such a shame,” he added in a dramatic undertone, “he could be spending time with the most beautiful being in all three realms, but then there is no accounting for taste, is there?”

Raising a hand (luckily, it didn’t visibly shake) she interrupted, “What do you mean, three realms?”

Surely he meant system. Or sector, or possibly even a single continent like some planetary governments used, and not what she had the sneaking feeling had happened. 

Blinking, the two blonds looked at each other. 

“Lovey,” Asmodeus started, arms crossing over his chest as he switched his gaze back to her, the beginnings of a frown creasing his forehead. “You are from earth, aren’t you?”

Technically, she was from Ossus, but with her citizenship currently in the no man’s land between the Republic and the Sith Empire, she went with what she had put on the datapad. “Edithae, in the Corbos system.”

“Oh dear.”

~fin


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya's first night in the House of Lamentation

There was a squeaky floorboard outside her room, one that creaked every time someone went to the kitchen, and Beelzebub—the redhead who had complained about being hungry, before eyeing her like she would look good on a plate—set it off every time he went back to the kitchen. He’d done it multiple times now, and it was only just past two. 

Exhausted, Sharya rolled over to bury her head under her pillow, dropping the oddly flat comlink to the floor beside the bed. Another mattress and sheets that didn’t smell right, another unfamiliar room in another strange place, but there was no Naasade to pet her hair, and no Larec to hold her until she fell asleep here. There wasn’t even the comforting hum of speeder traffic outside the windows or the deep thrum of a hyperdrive, just things with wheels that crawled along the ground and coughed exhaust like a death stick addict.

Somehow, her day had gotten worse.

She was going to be stuck here for a year. Twelve months, three hundred and sixty five twenty-four-hour days until she could see either of her lovers in anything but her memories or dreams again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her lips and then her tongue to keep her grief quiet as possible when the floorboard squeaked again, pressing a fist to her mouth and biting on the knuckles. 

This place was so strange and foreign, and the very first thing her so-called ‘guardian’ had done was demand her bracelet as payment, with his mismatched brothers standing there acting like this was normal, sighing, or burying their faces in their hands, or in Lucifer's case (he was her master's doppelganger, no matter that his voice was deeper and his face unlined by age) frowning thunderously, one hand clenching into a fist as the carefully rumpled demon kept talking. When he had tried to grab the delicate thing from her, she had thrown him across the table, and nearly dislocated her shoulder in the process; the slight, dark-skinned demon who called himself Mammon had been dense with muscle, and only the sticky surges of the force had allowed her to finish the throw. 

She had still screamed at him for trying to take it, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as stress piled on stress, ignoring the shocked silence from the others surrounding them; because not only was she trapped on this backward planet that still used fuel made from long-dead animals for a _year,_ but the force was so polluted here that she couldn’t stand to touch it any longer than she had to, and her sneaking suspicion had been right: somehow, whatever ‘spell’ Diavolo and Lucifer had performed to bring her here had completely dragged her from the galaxy she had known.

After leaving the school—of course the intimidating stone building she had arrived in was a school, one she would be forced to go to for the entire year that she was here; she had stared, and then giggled hysterically at the concept, covering her face with her hands. Was this some uncaring god’s idea of a, a joke, or a punishment, for finishing the Republic’s years of schooling in record Jedi time?—with Mammon, she had stared at the sky in dull horror on the way to this antique house, struggling to find constellations that she recognized, or even just specific stars. 

But there were voids where entire systems should have been, and she couldn’t make heads or tails of any of the constellations Mammon had grudgingly pointed out to her, scoffing disbelievingly when she mentioned ones from Ryloth, or Ossus, or any of a dozen other planets. It had been far less distressing to pinpoint the satellites (so few compared to some worlds) drifting through the cloudless sky while the single moon loomed huge and white over them, so she had done that instead, watching the same sparkly bit of metal float by every few minutes out the window of the ‘car.’

Out of morbid curiosity—this planet’s people hadn’t even gone past their absurdly close moon yet, how would they evacuate in case of planet-wide disaster?—she had turned to the comlink’s holonet to find that it would get even closer before beginning to drift away, but she was still leery of it. Everything she had learned from Tavarin and her classes about astrophysics insisted that this place should have been torn apart into space debris long ago, and the mind breaking reality of it was smacking her in the face every time she looked up.

A quiet knock at her door made her twitch, but the stupid antique knob was locked, and she ignored the second, slightly louder rap of knuckle on wood as well, not moving from where she was passively smothering under the pillow. 

To her relief, the floor creaked after another long silent moment, whoever had knocked finally shifting away. The comlink had buzzed numerous times since she had locked herself in here, and she had found that if she concentrated, she could see and hear through whatever spell translated the language into basic; the text was blocky, with a bewildering amount of tiny lines and dashes comprising larger characters. She still ignored the texts she’d received, including the one Mammon sent after abandoning her to his holodrama obsessed brother. Luckily, Leviathan had let her escape to her assigned room, but no matter how mentally worn out she was, she had left Dromund Kaas only a little after the middle of the day, and her body was wide awake. 

Waiting until her latest tears had stopped, she sat up and scrubbed at her face. The house’s inhabitants finally felt asleep, so maybe she could map the place, and exhaust herself physically as well. Making sure that the knob was unlocked—she checked twice, darting back down the hall the second time, unsure if she had truly gotten the mechanism right and desperately missing the sliding doors she was used to—Sharya trailed a hand along the walls, glancing curiously into the open rooms that she passed.

Slower than she was used to, force and trained talent had mapped out the mansion, and she stopped to sit on a landing on the third floor, arms wrapped around her knees as she considered. At least four levels, the building sprawled out as well as up and down, and each brother seemed to have their own room; there were living rooms, and sitting rooms and studies, and she thought there was a library somewhere on the second floor, the sense of quiet concentration familiar from Ossus. But she didn’t—couldn’t stand—having to learn anything more about this place, not yet, and so she made her way to the echoing void that turned out to be a somewhat cramped gymnasium.

She didn’t have her lightsaber, but the Jedi had designed open-handed katas for a reason, and she shucked off the ankle boots she had tugged on for her walk, leaving them beside the weight machines shoved into the corner. She very briefly entertained the thought of using them, until she had reread the labels stamped across the solid metal disks; the lightest was well over two hundred kilos, and she wondered again what kind of species she had ended up with, that two hundred and forty-five kilograms was considered _easy_ to lift. 

The floor underneath her feet was cool, and she stood meditatively in the center of the room, eyes closed as she breathed, and listened, settling deeper into herself as she shifted to the opening stance of her usual djem so. 

Ever so slowly, she began to move; easy, sweeping movements following the ‘blade’ of one outstretched hand as she worked her way back and forth across the gym. Always moving, never faltering, she added speed and power as her attacks and defenses against invisible opponents grew more complicated, until she stopped in shock, eyes blinking open to find that she was gasping for breath, and that early morning sun was glowing mellow against the wooden floor.

Perspiration was dripping from the ends of her hair, but the thing that had stopped her was the sudden pressure halting her latest blow from slicing across a pale throat; at least Lucifer looked amused at the prospect of being killed, although one dark eyebrow was raised. 

“Good morning,” he said, lowering his upheld palm to look at her properly, and she blinked again, pulling back. Her attack had been full strength, and for him to have stopped it one-handed made something in her brain recoil nervously. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Finding her tongue again took effort. “I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, ignoring the question for the moment. Her voice was a soft rasp, and she inclined her head, already turning to grab her boots. “And now, I’m going back to bed. Good night.”

“You really shouldn’t,” made her pause again. “Classes will begin shortly, and it wouldn’t do for you to be late on your first day.”

Her temper from the night before flared at the reminder, and she swallowed the instinctive ‘go to hell’ she wanted to say. “Sorry, I wasn’t aware that I would be coerced into learning only hours after being kidnapped,” she barely managed not to snap instead, shooting him a cold glare over her shoulder.

The word ‘kidnapped’ made something in his eyes go hard, and one hand flexed. “You are a student now, no matter what you were before. However,” he added grudgingly, “being summoned from another realm is not going to be a lasting excuse. You will be attending, and soon.”

Last night, Sharya had also found out that with a bit more effort than it took to see through the spell, she could speak a different language, and not have it be translated. Letting her face relax into an expression that might be called respectful, she nodded, and replied in mando’a, _“I will go to that school when this place is buried and forgotten by the clans.”_

Red eyes narrowed, annoyance flaring against her shields for a moment and she knew that he hadn’t understood the words. “That had better be an agreement.”

“It was,” she deadpanned, heading to the door with her boots in hand, still not quite daring to brush past him. “Good night.”

_~fin_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya and Levi have a... Misunderstanding. 
> 
> adding tags for assault, and foricbly stripping.

When she woke up later that day, she realized that she had made a mistake. The tunics and leggings she had been wearing since arriving in the Devildom last night had been soaked with sweat by her workout, and since she had fallen into bed without so much as wiping the perspiration from her face, her skin _itched_ under the salt-stained fabric. But she hadn’t located the laundry room yet, and considering the oven was powered by _wood_ (why? Why was it powered by _wood,_ they had _electricity_ here, _why wood?!_ ) she wasn’t sure if it was machines she would find at all. 

It took her a few minutes to steel herself to dig into the closet behind the overly large bed, ignoring the unnerving sense that she was rifling through someone else’s belongings. Hidden in the depths, she found clothing in all kinds of styles, in multitudes of sizes, which didn’t help the feeling of being a thief, but she finally located clothes that not only fit, but also would keep her covered. Ever since Edithae, she had wanted to stay safely concealed under cloth, and had managed it even when the only clothing had been Naasade’s comfortably worn smuggler clothes or Larec’s oversized tunics and pajamas, and despite the variety, almost everything in the closet had been cut to reveal far more flesh than she was comfortable with.

Tucking her choices under an arm, she slipped from the room, door closing quietly behind her. Around her, the mansion felt almost empty; _something_ was sleeping in the levels underground, while a kind of gleeful irritation radiated from the direction of Leviathan's room. Snorting at the reminder of the obsessed young man's existence—attacking his sleeping brother over a _toy,_ what the absolute hell—she thickened her shields and made her way to the 'fresher that was down the hall from her room. Once again, this room had been set up for an unknown occupant; fresh towels were folded neatly under the sink, while the single shelf next to the claw-footed bathtub held unopened bottles of soaps and gels. Sniffing each one curiously, she found one that was almost like Larec's and dropped it into the tub next to the puffy red thing that had been on top of the towels before double-checking that the door was locked. 

Up until she was dressing, skin pinked by how hot the water had been, she managed to avoid looking into the mirror, but the robes she had found were different enough that she gave up, glancing into the glass above the sink to make sure the doubled layers stayed evenly flat across her chest as she wrapped the broad sash around her waist. Her reflection looked exactly how she felt, and she quickly tore her gaze from haunted, bloodshot violet eyes in favor of concentrating on the robe. Made of light green cloth patterned with stylized purple and blue butterflies, the sleeves of the robe were both longer and wider than she was used to, getting in the way of the patterned sash until she took the edges between her teeth. Grumbling around the fabric, she hissed when she dropped the opposite end of the sash and it slipped from her waist to puddle on the floor. 

“Stupid fucking thing,” she muttered, pausing to scrub at her eyes before starting again. 

She’d never cared for the formal robes that the Jedi order insisted on, and these, while lighter and even pretty, were worse, the skirt tight about her hips and making her stride shorter than she was used to. She was half afraid that the delicate feeling fabric would rip as she walked, and kept having to check herself, looking down each time her knees caught against the skirt. 

It was during one of these times that she looked back up to see Leviathan exiting the kitchen, nose buried in a datapad and massive headphones covering his ears. Sighing, she shifted out of his way; the demon didn’t even seem to notice her, at least until he brushed her sleeve. As he did, orange eyes left the datapad, blinking, but she jumped when he flailed backward with a yelp. “G-ghost!!”

Bewildered, she twisted around to look, but he was still staring at her. “Levi,” she started carefully. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I-you’re a ghost,” he scowled, one hand pulling the headphones down around his neck. “I knew you weren’t just some normie human!” 

“You’re not making any sense,” Sharya finally decided flatly, shoulders dropping as she made to push past him. “I’m going back to bed.”

A hand with blue painted nails landing against her chest stopped her. “You said you were human and human means living! Why are you dressed like that if you’re still alive?”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” she snapped, yanking away as far as the robes would allow; it wasn’t far enough, and he was stepping closer to her, orange eyes narrowed. _Why are men always so angry,_ a tiny part of her whimpered, but she ignored it. “This was in my closet, if I wasn’t supposed to wear it, then it shouldn’t have been in there.”

“It’s not what you’re wearing, it’s how!” 

Her room was only a few meters away. If it came down to it, she would sacrifice the robe to run. “How should I be wearing it then, inside out?”

“Seriously, you don’t know? What kind of idiot doesn’t-” cutting himself off with another growl, he reached for her again. “Just-argh. Come here, I’ll fix it for you, you stupid human.”

“Fix _wha_ -hey, let go!” 

Just as thoughtlessly strong as last night, Leviathan grabbed at the front of her robes, datapad tucked under one arm as he tried to pull the sash from her waist; she could feel the knot at the back start coming loose at the rough handling, the necklines of the upper layer beginning to gape. Eyes wide and control slipping, she opened herself to the force and _shoved,_ creating a solid wall that knocked him to the ground. His ‘pad fell with a crack, he let out a startled shout, but then he was pinned and staring up at her.

“What the hell—“

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” she yelled, arms tight around herself. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she was sliding sideways, memories combining to confuse her, but no one was here to save her, her bonds resoundingly silent and he was trying to stand, but she _slammed_ him back down, frightened. “Stay down!”

Even with all the weight she could bring to bear, the demon was still able to struggle with her grip, and she bolted, sash abandoned on the ground behind her.

~fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a tidbit of knowledge about Japan: when wearing traditional clothing such as kimono, the way you overlap the layers is reversed for funerals. so, wrapping a robe with the left side over the right will read as 'this person is living,' while reversing that (right over the left) will read as 'this person is dead, and should not be moving around on their own.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya takes a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. do not know what kinda tags to add for this chapter. there might be a tag for enchanted sleep? idk. let me go check.

“What kinda human doesn’t answer their phone,” Mammon demanded, voice only slightly muffled from where she was lurking around the corner. “She complained about not havin’ space travel, and about cars bein’ too slow, but she don’t know how ta use a phone?”

Holding back a snort, Sharya slipped back down the hall, invisible inside the force. She had quickly figured out how to use the noisy thing, she just didn’t want anything to do with it, and so it was currently buried in the closet, balled up inside the green robe that she kind of wanted to burn. Last night, she’d walked most of the mansion only lightly shielded to get a feel for it, but now with all six brothers looking for her, she kept herself hidden in every way she could. Some bitter part of her was delighting in the frustration she had caused; she hadn’t left the house, but she had been projecting _‘no one’s here’_ so hard that the brothers would leave for another part of the building, determined that they had just missed her when she was standing right next to them.

It was honestly a piece of cake compared to breaking into Sith military facilities, no matter that there had been talk of scenting her. Upon entering her ‘empty’ room (somehow easily getting past the supposed one-way lock and scaring her into freezing as he searched), Lucifer had immediately organized a hunt for her, splitting his brothers off to look level by level in a way that would have made Naasade proud. Each room, each closet, and each echoing stairwell was checked, the brothers calling out as individual rooms were cleared over and over. But these demons didn’t understand what they had summoned, and she wasn’t going to give them any more clues than she had to.

Still, she didn’t want to be found yet, the thought of being anywhere near Leviathan causing a shudder to run down her spine. There was one place that she could go, that everyone seemed to be ignoring, and promised to be quiet for a while longer, despite the single occupant she’d glimpsed. Stopping by the larger of the two libraries, she pulled a heavy book from its neatly labeled shelf and wandered up to the attic, ignoring the young man sleeping behind the locked gate. He’d not moved from where he had been last night, facedown in the pillows of his bed, and she settled in to read, legs crossed as she flipped through the book. 

Despite the unnerving sense of being a cell, there was something calming about the room around her, and as unfamiliar stars wheeled overhead, and a square of moonlight drifted across the floor, Sharya found herself blinking more and more, and staring at the same paragraph for minutes at a time. She was so tired, and despite the _anger/worry/anxiety/fear_ working its multi-pronged way back up, she let the book fall closed, careful to keep the bubble of force active around her. Biting back a yawn, she checked on the young man behind the gate. 

Unmoving still, the blue-haired head was tucked against a pillow; deceptively innocent, he exuded the same predatory menace the others did, and even in the depths of slumber, the force around him shivered with an impotent fury. Head dropping with a heavy sigh, she rubbed at itchy, dry eyes in time to miss a faint, purple-pink glow in the darkness of the gated room. 

She would head downstairs in a minute, she resolved, snagging the book. It was thick, with a soft cover despite the full-color flatpics inside, and it should make a good headrest as she attempted to pinpoint some of the constellations she had read about. 

\--

She was awake, but only just. 

Eyes opened to thin slits, she came to the realization that she was curled up on something hard and cold; even so, she was too tired to move, and her eyelids slipped closed as she struggled to remember what she’d been doing. She’d seen a book right next to her head, so maybe she’d been reading? But why was she on the floor instead of in the squishy recliner, and why was the apartment so quiet, the sound of transports and constant thunderstorms absent?

Feeling oddly like the room was beginning to rock beneath her, she reluctantly gave up on thinking; she had been so comfortable, sleeping there, she could just relax back into the soft black, ignoring the sound of a body moving behind her. The faint resistance—was she resisting? No, surely not. Master had long ago said that she wasn’t allowed to, that she would be hurt if she did—in her limbs that she wasn’t fully aware of began dissipating, leaving her lying boneless on the floor, but her slow breathing was starting to tremble.

 _I want to wake up,_ she thought sluggishly, fingers twitching. 

It was hard to concentrate, the force slipping from her grip as sleep worked to claim her again. Biting her tongue didn’t work as well as she’d hoped it would, the flash of pain like something half-remembered in a dream, and she shifted so that the tip was in between the points of her teeth, biting down even harder.

“Go back to sleep,” someone muttered; a wave of exhaustion washed over her as he spoke, all but pinning her limp body to the ground. “Lucifer’ll be here soon, and you don’t want to be awake for it. _I_ don’t want to be awake for it, but I have to, so be a good little human, and _go to sleep.”_

A tiny whine escaped her—her reality was still broken then, if that man’s name was being spoken out loud—but the words had been laced with power, enough that even though she had been trained to fight mental suggestions since childhood, her mind blanked out before the sentence finished, dragged into a darkness so complete it felt like falling again. 

~fin


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Sharya have a confrontation.

She woke with a cry and a hand in her hair, her back slamming into the ground as a hard, heavy body settled over her. 

"Do you know," he snarled, breath hot in her face. "What you could have done?!"

Sh-she'd just been _asleep,_ what was Larec _talking_ about? “Master, please,” she started, pained, frightened tears blurring her vision so all she could see was glowing eyes under dark hair, “you're scaring me!”

“I’m not your master,” came another enraged snarl, and while the words sent a frisson of fear down her spine, she was slipping back under even now, muscles remaining slack in spite of the panic that was trying to form. “But you’ll wish I was before I’m done. Stand up.”

Yanked upright by the hair, she couldn’t scream; the room swam around her and she had to cling to the man dragging her, one hand fumbling for his wrist as she fought to find her feet. Something about the view in front of her was off, the blue-white light of the moon shining on sleek black shapes that twitched erratically with their owner’s fury, but she was tripping as she followed, legs weak and rubbery from the same supernatural weariness that she could almost remember from earlier. 

“Please,” she tried again, stumbling; he was still moving, ignoring how she whimpered in pain as her knees hit the floor. “Wait!”

That implacable grip moved, closing about her throat and lifting, squeezing tighter than Larec ever had. Red eyes narrowed and burning, the demon—and he _was_ a demon, she saw now, horrified by the sight of twisted black horns rising from his hair and the four black feathered wings that snapped and shook as he effortlessly held her aloft—raised his lip in a threatening growl. “Begging for mercy already, little human?”

She was going to die, and Larec and Naasade would never even know what happened to her, just that she had disappeared into the depths of the citadel, and Lira would never know how hard she had tried, but at least Granuille already thought she was dead and would be spared any further pain—

Vision narrowing to the enraged features before her, she gasped uselessly. 

“..volo,” she managed to mouth. Her desperately grasping hands had found his arm, kitten weak, but just enough to prevent her from dangling entirely by the throat, half-numb fingers already slipping. “Diavolo…”

The durasteel clutching her spasmed, tightening to the point that something almost gave, and for a second she wondered if he was just going to snap her neck instead of strangling her, red eyes blazing in the deepening darkness before he pulled her close.

“If you _ever_ speak a _word_ of what you found here, to _anyone,"_ he hissed, “you will not live to see your master again.”

Despite her frantic nodding, Lucifer held her until her vision had completely blacked out, and she had gone limp, hands falling to her sides as she hung there. With a sound like ripping silk, he finally released her, all but throwing her aside; somehow, she was hovering on the edge of consciousness, the fresh oxygen not quite enough to revive her where she had fallen. After another silent, dazed moment, the heartbeat pounding in her ears faded, to the point that she could listen to the words being spoken over her. Unfortunately, the fog from being strangled was cutting through the translation spell, and all she could hear was a rapid exchange, the sounds oddly like the spitting of a fuel soaked fire, roaring and hissing. 

Abruptly convulsing, she hunched in on herself, coughing as her lungs realized that she was able to breathe; she could already feel the bruise forming, and knew each finger would be visible on her skin for at least a month if she wasn’t able to heal it later. Her lovers had left similar marks on her before, but she had welcomed their touch, had asked for it once she knew how, and the red gloved hand locking around her bicep made her waste precious air in a choked whimper. This touch she was afraid of, terror struggling to overcome the lassitude that now felt coiled around her very bones, but Lucifer simply growled wordlessly as he forced her back to her feet, and hauled her to the stairwell. 

The second time she stumbled going down the curving stairs, almost knocking into one still twitching wing, he tangled hair around his fist, ignoring her pained yelp to keep her moving at his side. The rest of the journey through the mansion was a blur; she was vaguely aware of others around and behind them, but the hand gripping her didn't let her stop until they had gotten to her door, no matter how she cried, or the demands from his brothers. One of them—she couldn’t tell which, not bent in half and stumbling, eyes watering in pain as she did her best not to fall—was doing the same thing she had as he followed, just out of Lucifer’s reach. 

“You can’t kill her, or else Diavolo’s pet project will fail,” he called, invoking the demon prince’s name in a spiteful tone. “You don’t want that to happen, I know you don’t.”

Jerking to a halt just outside her door, Lucifer finally let go, and she fell, one shaking hand going to her throbbing scalp as he turned a burning glare onto his brothers. “I’m aware. Return to your rooms, all of you,” he ordered coldly, and she whimpered when that glare flicked back to her. “As for you...”

Flinching at the return of his hand, she scrambled back to her feet, the collar of her shirt cutting into her neck as he threw her again, this time into the cushions piled in front of the bed. Paralyzed, she lay where she had fallen, cringing at the slam of the door, and the shout that left echoes ringing in her ears. “The only way you’re leaving this room again is if you beg my permission!”

Still frozen in fear, Sharya didn’t move until dawn had begun pinking the sky, helpless tears burning her cheeks with their salt.

~fin


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya's grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, this is why I shouldn't post at 5am. Minor edits because I depend out and changed a few words that shouldn't have been changed.

The door was rattling. 

Jerking awake with her heart pounding in her throat, Sharya curled up in the cushions, cutting off the automatic cry forming on the back of her tongue; for a horrible moment she was in the attic, Lucifer looming dark and threatening above her before she shook it off, the scent of the tree growing through the floorboards green and grounding to her near-panicked mind. Above her, the impossible skylight that helped keep the tree alive was brilliantly blue compared to the pink and gold she could last remember seeing, and she turned a nervous look on the door when the knock came a second time, still not quite awake.

"Sharya, I'm coming in," a voice called after and she jerked again. 

_Not him, not him,_ she thought, eyes widening as she grabbed for the force. None of them had seen her last night, so maybe she could hid—

"And you better be visible," Lucifer finished coolly.

Shuddering at the threat in his words, she let the partly formed shields collapse, arms coming up to curl around herself as the door opened. The twisted black horns that had risen from his hair were gone, the four feathered wings no longer twitching behind him, but she was more surprised by the tray he was carrying than by the missing appendages.

"Don't worry, it's safe for humans to eat," he stated dryly when he followed her gaze. The tray was dropped to the full-size dining table in the corner, and then he stood back, arms crossed as he frowned at her.

Barely managing not to flinch at the resemblance to Larec, the faded marks on the backs of her thighs twinging with pain, she frowned right back up at him. “What would you have done if I was naked when you came in,” she demanded, voice a soft rasp. “Since you didn’t even wait for me to say anything?”

“Please, continue to assume I’ve never seen a naked woman before. It’s cute.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she scowled at the smirk that spread his lips. “I am far older than I appear, human. Nudity hasn’t bothered me in thousands of years.”

Considering the bickering Levi and Mammon had done when she first met them, Sharya had already figured the demon brothers would have a longer lifespan than the average human, but for them to appear no older than their second decade? “How old are you?”

“Old enough,” the demon answered after a moment of silently studying her, red eyes hooded; there was no visible change, but he suddenly seemed weary, a split second of his presence in the force radiating an exhaustion that she could never hope to fathom. In between heartbeats, that sense of being stretched far too thin had vanished, and his gaze hardened, voice going silky and dangerous. “What were you doing up there last night?”

“Up where? All I know is that you scared me awake, strangled me, and then dragged me through most of this damn place.” Her mouth was painfully dry, and she lifted her head defiantly, hiding the way her hands were shivering by keeping them tight about her forearms. “At what point was I supposed to take notes?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, stepping closer as his eyes flicked to just below her face. “You are a guest here.”

“Thanks _ever so much_ for reminding me,” she replied acidly, feeling muscles tense further. She didn’t know how fast he was, but the force was still in her reach and she might be able to make it to the door. “And since _you_ are currently a guest in _my_ room, I’d like you to leave.”

His face tightened, a scowl beginning to form; in response, the fear coiling through her rose, only to slow in shock at how it abruptly vanished, replaced by a falsely cheerful grin. "Very well," he said, tilting his head in a regal nod, eyes cold. "I shall come get you when it’s time for dinner." 

So saying, he turned towards the door, and the relief that had spiked at this too-easy capitulation was overtaken by worry.

“W-wait,” she started, beginning to stand; she apparently hadn't shifted in hours, and her legs were dead asleep under her, making her yelp as she crashed back to the cushions. Cursing, she grabbed at the more numb of the two limbs, channeling the force through the muscles to speed the pins and needles of returning circulation, switching to the other with a pained hiss when she could bend her toes properly. "Ow, ow, ow, _owww..."_

When she scrambled back up, she still limped a little, and there was an amused gleam in Lucifer's eyes as he courteously pulled the door open for her. 

“You never did answer me,” he said idly as he led her to the ‘fresher, and she looked up at him, warily keeping as far outside of his reach as she could. 

“About what,” Sharya muttered; those black-gloved hands were staying at his sides as he walked, although he opened this door as well. She paused on the other side of the hallway from him and the ‘fresher both, arms crossed as she stared at him. No matter how badly she needed to go, she wasn’t walking past him, not while the feel of his fingers tangled against her scalp was so fresh in her memory. 

Seemingly unconcerned by her paranoia, the demon mirrored her, his arms crossing as he leaned against the wall. “About where you learned to fight, although you won’t be throwing Mammon quite so easily again,” he stated, the corners of his lips tilting up at the memory. “The file we have on you didn’t mention anything about martial training.”

Oh? Tucking that away, she snorted, and sidestepped the question yet again. “I nearly broke something, but sure, throwing him was easy.” Her voice tried to wobble as she continued, “Are you planning to move?”

His smirk widened, just a little. “Why? Are you scared of me, little human?” 

A shiver crawled down her spine at the hunger that curled through the words, and she did her best to ignore that, too. “I just don’t want my hair pulled again.”

“Hmm.” Lips still spread in a smirk, he straightened and pulled away enough that he wouldn’t be able to grab for her if she went to the door. “Then you shouldn’t disobey me.”

Darting a look at him, she debated for a second. “You said it yourself,” she whispered at last, feeling her limbs begin to tremble as she crossed the hall. “You’re not my master.” 

—

The handprint around her throat was just as vivid as the one Larec had left that very first night, while she had been hanging trapped and helpless in the crackling embrace of a containment field, and made her tear up just as much as she brushed careful fingertips over it, wincing at the pain. At least her master had healed her after hurting her so, while Lucifer seemed not to care if she walked around with bruises on her throat; she almost wondered what his prince would say if he saw the marks, and then let out a shuddering sigh, one hand tight on the counter as her head bowed for a moment, tears beading in her eyes.

Well, there was no better time than now to see if she could use the force in this place to heal; the whole of her hand didn’t even begin to cover the mark as she called on it. The energy still felt sticky, but it was more like warm, melted candy instead of tar as it trickled into her, filling reserves that she hadn’t realized had been drained; gradually, the purple handprint faded, taking the low, throbbing ache with it, until the only thing left was the ghost of fingers and thumb at the curves of her neck. Dropping her hand, she looked past her reflection to the locked door; behind it, she could feel the demon’s growing impatience. She’d taken her time, all too aware of the fact that she would be locked back into her room as soon as she exited the ‘fresher, but she wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer. 

Drawing in one last bracing gasp of air—despite the tears in her eyes, it wasn’t shaking with the threat of sobs, not while she still had to face him—Sharya opened the door, slipping from the ‘fresher and nearly walking into Lucifer’s chest. 

Squeaking, she flailed back, desperate to escape the sudden presence surrounding her, but her hand on the knob was trapped by leather-covered durasteel, and her chin tilted so that she was forced to look up into red eyes, her free hand locking onto his wrist without conscious thought. Her back hit the door as terror flooded her, every other time she had been helpless under someone over the last month hitting her all at once and making her vision tunnel down to the demon in front of her; the only things keeping her from trying to kill him to flee was the echo of those fingers effortlessly crushing her throat, and the fact that his grip was, so far, gentle as he examined her, brow furrowed in concentration despite how her fingertips should have been squeezing deeply into a pressure point.

“Back. Off,” she managed to gasp, twitching with the effort of not slamming her knee up into his groin. She had yet to meet a man that wasn’t deeply hurt just by the idea of getting hit there, although she had no idea if the demon would even feel it; Levi hadn’t been winded by her attempting to crush him with the force, while Mammon had seemed more stunned by the fact that she had gotten him off the ground than by the act of being thrown. “Or I will do my damndest to make sure you never have children.”

“You are supposed to be incapable of magic, and yet,” Lucifer murmured, utterly disregarding her threat as he angled her head higher. “That rather impressive bruise is almost completely gone, and you seem to have a disturbing ability to elude myself and my brothers for hours, without once leaving this house. So, tell me,” his voice lowered to something approaching a growl, and she could see his teeth had sharpened, fangs seeming to grow in place of what had been long but still human-standard canines, “What are you?”

The panic that had been resting under her skin ever since massive stone blocks replaced seamless metal walls rose once more, and she hiccuped in fear when her sudden kick was blocked, and she was shoved further into the door, the hand cupping her chin tightening to the point of pain. Without saying a word, the demon was making it clear that he wouldn't let her go, and even with the candy-sticky force flowing through her, she couldn't wriggle free of the grips he had on her. Her bravado crumpling faster than it had in the cell, she gave up on escaping and grappled instead with the familiar knot in her throat.

“I-I’m a Jedi,” she finally stammered, voice a harsh, terrified rasp, “I’m a Jedi!”

But as the red eyes glaring at her narrowed and the fingers on her squeezed—razor-sharp memories of annoyed storm cloud eyes filling her head with painfully buzzing static at the same time—she realized that the words had escaped her without the echoing overlay of the translation spell, and the tears that she had been fighting broke free, falling in hot streaks down her cheeks as she forced herself to let the spell take her words and twist them. 

“I’m just a Jedi!”

~fin


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya's first dinner with the demon brothers goes about as well as she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huzzah, i managed to actually write something for this! 
> 
> divorces are expensive and terrible and suck, because you have to detangle your life from another. bad mental health also sucks. 
> 
> but you're not here for that.
> 
> have some fic. <3

When Lucifer opened her door again, Sharya was standing, arms crossed over her chest and doing her best to stare the demon down; it had been hours since she stopped crying, but she was still haunted by the possibility of him dragging her to a place his brothers wouldn't hear her screaming as he forced answers from her. He appeared unimpressed by her glower, but raised a sleek black brow at the room around her.

“I do hope,” he said at last, turning that unimpressed expression back on her, “that you are planning to clean this up after dinner.”

‘This’ being the contents of every drawer and every shelf strewn across every surface, the clothes from the closet piled on the bed and turned inside out, the pillows that she had woken up in shoved into the small space between the footboard of the bed and the wall; the moment Lucifer had locked her back in, she had felt  _ something _ watching her, and hadn’t been able to stand it. The leers from the cellblock were still too close for her to put up with the feeling for long, but her frantic searching had turned up nothing capable of transmitting data; she found no cameras, no speaker systems, not even a port for a computer spike, and the comlink had died, the screen gone black and unresponsive by the time she thought to check it. 

“No,” she deadpanned. “I like being surrounded by mess, it makes me feel at home.”

“Then you and Mammon have something in common. Come, the others are waiting for us,” Lucifer said icily, turning to lead her out. 

As they passed the 'fresher, she paused, waiting until the demon noticed and turned around, one brow rising. 

"Go wait over there," she demanded, pointing at the other side of the hall. 

"Why should I?" He stepped closer, arms crossing over his chest, his eyes narrowing; she barely controlled the urges to flinch away and to call on the force, even though she couldn't stop her hand twitching towards her missing lightsaber. "This is my home,  _ jedi _ \--" he didn't pronounce it right, the emphasis on the second syllable, stretching the word out to jeh-daii, but it was filled with the same derision she heard from imperials, causing a cold chill to run down her spine, heart thumping at the implied threat "--and I do not take orders from a human who refuses to answer the simplest of questions."

Breathing in deeply, Sharya decided to be blunt. "I need to pee, and I don't trust you. I didn't ask to be brought here, I want nothing to do with  _ any _ of this, but here I am.  _ Please _ go wait over there." When red eyes narrowed further, she gritted her teeth, head dropping. "I was trained to be a guardian in service to the Galactic Republic; to protect its citizens from all who threatened them, and to fight against the Sith Empire however and whenever it was needed. That's where I learned to fight." Looking back up, she glared at Lucifer.  _ "Now _ will you move?"

It was clear that the words meant almost nothing to him; she could feel his confusion and annoyance even without the force running under her skin. There was also a sense of relief, and she wasn't sure if it was because she finally answered his days old question, or if it was simply the word 'guardian,' but the demon at last shifted to one side, his suspicion lessening, and when she exited the 'fresher, he hadn’t moved from where she had last seen him. 

The rest of the walk to the grandly appointed dining room was nearly silent; she could sense that Lucifer was mulling over something, and she spent the time waiting for him to ask whatever it was he wanted to know. She didn't expect it to be about her attire, however.

“Couldn’t decide what to wear?”

“The clothes are terrible," Sharya said shortly, maintaining the two-meter distance between them, "and I hate them. I want mine back.”

There was a flash of confusion in his face when the demon looked back at her. “Why would I have your clothes?”

“I didn’t say  _ you  _ had them,” she said, raising her voice so those at the table could hear her clearly, “I just said that I want them back.”

The soft chatter of Lucifer’s brothers halted, heads turning towards the hall with varying looks of confusion, and, in one case, going quickly red and guilty before darting back down to the device in his hands. 

“Want what back,” Mammon called indignantly, “I ain’t taken nothin’ of yours, ya can’t ask for it back if I din’t take it!”

As they got closer--Beelzebub had already made a dent in the frankly massive amounts of food loading it down, judging from the empty plates stacked to one side--she wordlessly raised her left arm, the silver web across the back of her hand glittering with sparks of purple as she wiggled it pointedly. To her bemusement, the white-haired demon’s face immediately darkened in a flush. “I apologized already, don’t go throwing me again!”

“Then don’t try to take it,” Sharya stated, glancing at Lucifer. He’d reached the table before she could, and had pulled out the empty chair that was waiting beside Mammon, one hand resting on the back in an obvious manner. She stopped well away from demon and table both, and crossed her arms again, staring at him just as stubbornly as she had outside the 'fresher.

“Darling, while I don’t mind seeing a bit of skin at dinner,” Asmodeus cooed--it wasn’t enough to get her to switch her gaze to him, even if she immediately tugged the edges of her cardigan tighter around herself, highly aware of the vivid bite mark at the crook of her neck that her hair wasn’t long enough to hide, and the others scattered across her collarbones and shoulders--  _ “Why _ are you wearing  _ pajamas? _ Surely you could have found  _ something _ in all those lovely things?”

“No. All of them were terrible,” she repeated, forcing herself not to twitch at a sudden crack of bone; beside Mammon, Beelzebub was biting through something long and meaty, an almost orgasmic bliss radiating from him.  _ Gluttony indeed. _ “And most of it didn’t fit.”

The sound that escaped Asmodeus was akin to a squawk, and she blinked, glancing over to see that one dainty hand was covering glossed lips, his face twisted in something like offended horror. “Terr--those are the  _ latest  _ fashions, carried by  _ only  _ the most exclusive stores, how could you call them  _ terrible?” _

“Easily.” If she’d had a choice in the matter, maybe she wouldn’t have insulted the things so much, but when some of them had patterns that made her eyes hurt, and at least half looked to have been cut up by an unsupervised toddler, she felt entitled to an opinion. 

Her answer made Satan snicker, and Asmodeus shot him a dirty look. “Well, at least I kept the receipts,” he sniffed. “I suppose we could take them back--”

“Or I can take ‘em off yer hands,” Mammon interrupted, odd blue-gold eyes glittering as he smiled charmingly, his earlier embarrassment nowhere to be found. “They migh’ not be worth much, what with bein’ secondhand to a human an’ all, but the Great Mammon--”

“Will not be laying a finger on those clothes,” Lucifer growled, one eyebrow beginning to twitch. “When her punishment is over, she can pick out replacements.”

Somehow, this was easier, and yet harder to do than staring down her master; Lucifer appeared to have far less control over his expression, the twitching eyebrow joined by lines visibly appearing on the backs of his gloves the longer their contest went. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t still afraid of him, her heart pounding in her throat and her mouth painfully dry, but the others kept drawing his attention, glaring red eyes switching from each new irritant back to where she stood, a full three meters away from table and demon both. 

“Exactly when is that supposed to be,” Asmodeus demanded, “there are such things as return policies, and we all know what your punishments can be like!”

At that, Sharya tried to hide her flinch in favor of keeping her gaze steady; while the last punishment she suffered was nothing compared to the techniques that had been used to break her, the long thin bruises on the backs of her legs still hurt, and she had no reason to believe that Lucifer was unwilling of doing the same, or worse. He didn’t notice it, however, red eyes locking onto Satan when the golden-haired demon leaned forward to rest his chin on one hand, blue-green eyes glinting above a cat-like smirk. 

“It ends when I say it ends,” Lucifer finally snapped, releasing the chair back to move to the one at the head of the table. 

“I’m not going to make the poor thing wander around in clothes she can’t stand,” Asmodeus replied stiffly. “And I simply refuse to have my reputation as the Devildom’s top fashionista sullied by improperly returned clothing!”

That got the fifth-oldest brother another glare. “Fine. You may take her to  _ one  _ store, tomorrow morning.” 

“Woo-hoo! Shopping trip!” The exclamation was from Mammon, and she glanced at him before reluctantly taking the seat Lucifer had been standing beside, the legs squealing as she scooted it closer; she would much prefer being at the far end of the table rather than squeezed in-between Mammon and Lucifer. “You’re my favorite little brother, Asmo--”

“You’re not going,” Lucifer interrupted. “Satan, you’ll be joining them.”

Smirk dropping from his face, the fourth oldest leaned around Asmodeus and Leviathan to fix him with a hard stare, ignoring his brother’s dismayed squawk. “Mammon’s the babysitter, why am I getting saddled with his job?”

Beside him, the ash-blond was still making a face at this concession. "Not even Majolish is good enough for a full wardrobe replacement in  _ one morning,” _ he sniffed, absently reaching to snag a bottle away from the center of the table as his tone went hopeful. “Did anything at least grab your attention? A single piece that we can build from?”

Grudgingly—even over the mingled scents of roasted meats and other food, she could smell the alcohol, but there wasn’t a single teapot anywhere in sight—she answered, “There was one thing.” 

“Oh, tell me tell me~”

“I think it’s called a kimono?” Keeping her eyes on her plate as she fussed with her napkin didn’t stop her from noting how Leviathan stiffened across from her, his cheeks darkening to a dull red. “But I didn’t put it on properly.” That same bitter part of her that had delighted in the chaos of last night was louder than the uncomfortable twisting in her gut as she finished, and he jerked, head shooting up to stare at her almost pleadingly. “Isn’t that right, Levi?”

Beelzebub didn’t notice the byplay—out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he had all but licked another plate clean, free hand already reaching for another full dish—while Asmodeus brightened, head tilting as his gaze went calculated. “Oh, yes, that one~ We can definitely work with it. Now, was it the pattern, the fabric, or the-” Then her comment seemed to penetrate his planning, and he interrupted himself, “Wait, wait, what does Levi have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” the purple-haired demon said loudly, twitching like he wanted to run. Served him right. “Levi has nothing to do with anything, not a single thing!”

His outburst made even Beelzebub look up, and distracted Satan and Lucifer from their seething argument over who was to watch her. Smirking, Mammon leaned his chin on one hand. "I know  _ that _ tone. What'd ya do?"

Cheeks still flushed a painful-looking red even over the arm now covering half his face, Leviathan glared. "Shut up, stupid Mammon! Like I'd want anything to do with a three-dimensional  _ normie _ of a  _ human!" _

Narrowing her eyes a little—that was a lie, no matter the way he was flushing, a spike of desire (she didn't  _ think _ it was for her  _ specifically, _ or at least not entirely; she'd noticed something that first night before he had let her leave) suddenly a foxfire flash in the force—she spent a second debating. 

“You can keep the sash,” she finally said, not hiding the wobble in her voice—the robe would be going back to wherever it came from, what did she care if everything was sent back with it, but she wanted the clothes that Larec had picked out for her, the layers of black and red tunics that covered her completely; when she had gone looking for them yesterday, they had utterly disappeared from the hall outside her room, the same as the green patterned silk—“but give me back my clothes!”

“Levi, explain yourself.” 

The words surprised her, but she didn’t look away; Sharya had never seen anyone turn so red before, the anxiety and near panic radiating from Leviathan nearly smothering as he stuttered, “I-sh-she looked  _ dead _ , what was I supposed to do, let her go around like that? And she broke my tablet!”

“You tried to strip me!” Controlling how loud her voice was proved impossible, the marble-floored room ringing with her words. “You didn’t even explain anything, just grabbed me, what did you expect?!”

"For you to let me fix it!"

“I could have done that myself, you lousy nerfherder!” Beside her, she was faintly aware of Mammon muttering, “Nerfherder?” but she could barely hear him over the pounding in her ears. “Next time, try and think!”

Sputtering, Leviathan was interrupted by Lucifer before he could get a coherent word out. "Levi, you will apologize--now--and return her clothing."

"B-but my tablet," he tried once more; he was pulling away from the table, still flushing a deep red, anger beginning to mix with the other emotions she felt from him. 

"Will be locked in my office until further notice. Hand it over."

"I-I--but--" 

"Would you prefer I change the password to the router?"

That made orange eyes go wide as his blood-red face abruptly paled; Leviathan was all but shouting in the force, the words hammering at her shields in an incoherent babble of humiliated rage before he finally shoved his datapad at Lucifer and stood from the table so fast his chair almost flipped over. Not looking back, he fled the room, and that uncomfortable twisting in her gut sharpened; she didn’t know what a ‘live q&a podcast with Ruri-chan’s and Azuki-tan’s VAs in character’ was, or even meant, but it was something that was dear to him. Maybe she would be okay with threatening something so obviously precious after she spent more time as Larec’s apprentice, but right now guilt was clawing at her insides, and she wanted nothing more than to apologise to him.

“Sharya.” 

Twitching, she didn’t look up. “What.”

“When did this happen.” Lucifer’s voice was almost deadly calm, while the others were silent aside from the scrape of silverware on ceramic. “And why did you not let me know.”

Dragging in a breath, she blinked to clear a faint haze from her vision, the sharp knife that had been beside her plate held in one white-knuckled fist underneath the table. “Yesterday. No one else was here, and the comlink died. And let's not forget, I. Don’t. Trust. You. Besides,” she finished bitterly, "would you even believe a  _ human _ over your own brother?”

He didn’t seem to have an answer to that, and she followed Leviathan’s example, standing from the table, deftly hiding the knife away in the same motion that dropped her napkin back onto her empty plate. The tray from lunch was still on the table in her room, she could always eat that once shame stopped twisting her stomach into knots. “Take me back to my room,  _ please. _ I’m not hungry.”

  
  


_ ~fin _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to Majolish begins, and ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> impatient bitch is impatient
> 
> here thar be panic attacks

There was still no tea. 

Instead, whoever had prepared her tray had given her _kaff,_ a huge mugful of it alongside the suspiciously colored breakfast foods. 

Growling as she dropped the silver dome back over the tray Lucifer had again left her with, Sharya went back to the corner she had slept in; the bed was too big, and she had fallen out of it at some point in the night, one hand searching for bodies that were an entire reality away. The size of it wouldn’t have been a problem even a month ago--the bunk she had slept on for the past year had barely been big enough for her to roll over on--but she had quickly gotten used to her lovers cuddling her, trapped in between the two of them on a massive bed, Larec’s long, lean bulk pressed to her back, Naasade’s muscled arms draped across her shoulders, keeping her close as she used the woman as a pillow, all of their legs tangled together under the covers. Instead of crawling back into it after waking with a rug in her face and one arm twisted underneath her, she had gone back to the corner at the bed’s foot, curling up under the fluffy comforter and staring at the skylight overhead until sleep claimed her again. 

There shouldn’t have been a skylight there. Directly above her room was a parlor, one that was distinctly lacking in a floor-window. Not that she truly believed it was open to the outside of the house, anyway; she had tried to escape through it after tearing the room apart, taking one of the ugly statuettes to the glass in the hopes of shattering it. There hadn’t even been a scratch left on it, while the metal statue she used had dented, one corner smashed flat by force-enhanced strength meeting apparently unbreakable glass. 

At least she’d gotten her clothes back, the black-haired demon carrying them over one arm when he brought her breakfast; they had been washed, the faint smell of incense cleaned from the fabric along with the sweat. Sharya had barely waited for the door to close before climbing into them, the relief flooding her at the familiar weight of tunics and sash and belt causing tears to rise and blur her vision. 

She was poking through the comlink--finally recharged with a cable Lucifer had given her before locking her in for the night--and trying to decide if she actually wanted to answer the texts that had come through when there was a knock at the door.

A vast majority of the messages were from when she hid from the brothers, while one was from Leviathan, wanting to make sure she would still help with his stupid plan. Sharya _had_ answered that one, using curses in huttese and a little cartoon of an angry character to tell him off, smirking when the answer she received was a shivering dog looking thing. (Another was from Diavolo, checking on her and wishing her a speedy recovery from the summoning spell’s effects; she didn’t know how to answer it, finally resorting to one of the cartoons again, this one of a little creature with ‘Thanks’ scrawled across the top.) To her surprise, Lucifer wasn’t the one at the door; it was Asmodeus and Satan who opened it after she answered.

“Oh, good, you’re already dressed,” Asmodeus said cheerfully, starting right for the closet, folded bags under one arm. “We don’t have long, lovely, so we must be quick."

His brother didn’t follow, instead pausing to glance between her and the covered tray, raising a golden brow at it. “Do humans not require multiple meals a day?”

“Usually we do,” Sharya stated, looking up from tugging her boots on. “But I don’t trust green eggs, and I don’t like kaff.”

“Kaff?” Now both eyebrows were raised, and he lifted the dome to peer at the contents. “You mean coffee?”

“Whatever you want to call it,” she answered in a mutter. “I just wanted tea.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll try to remember that.” Dropping the dome, Satan turned to the closet. “Need a hand in there?”

In response, a number of bags appeared at the wall separating the closet from the rest of the room. “Take these and go to the car, I still need to sort out the rest.” 

Stifling a sigh--not another _car,_ what she wouldn’t give for a proper speeder--Sharya accepted two of the bags Satan held out to her, following him to the entrance hall. She had just reached for the doorknob when he announced, “You should know that there's a spell on the house.”

Blinking, she looked up at him. “Kinda figured when I couldn’t break the window last night,” she said.

That made the corners of his mouth lift in a cool smirk. “No, that would be the house. She doesn’t allow much to hurt her, not if she can help it.”

“Yes, yes, she’s very protective, we know!” A loud rustle of plastic and paper drew her attention, and Sharya peered around Satan to see Asmodeus hurrying towards them, his arms loaded with what she assumed was the rest of her clothing in more shopping bags and that was. Fast. The closet had been stuffed with clothes, and for the demon to have finished packing it all away and then catch up with them was almost alarming. “Open the door, this is heavy.”

Bewildered even more by the phrasing--the _house_ was protective?--Sharya turned back to the door, pulling it open only to freeze halfway through. She stumbled the rest of the way out when Satan bumped into her back, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sky, staring blankly up, not sure if the emotion she felt under the shock was betrayal, anger, or simply dull, horrified acceptance.

“Don’t stop all of a sudden,” the demon behind her snapped, one hand grabbing her by the shoulder as she slipped on dew-slick stone. 

“That s-spell you mentioned,” she stammered, still staring. “What was it? And does it have something to do with why there’s no sun?”

“Ah. Sort of,” Satan answered, giving her a nudge forward so he could move past her. The look he gave her was patient, if not exactly pitying, or sympathetic. “It’s supposed to make you comfortable. If you’d prefer, we can remove it.”

She’d spent almost a year in deep space, alone on a tiny ship as she worked her way planet by planet and mission by mission into Sith territory, and while the lack of familiar constellations was jarring, it might prove far better than this. Swallowing, she locked her gaze on her feet, forcing herself down the short stairs to the car waiting in the curving stretch of concrete. Above her, the huge white moon shone in the same purple-blue sky she had seen through the windows of the school; in the house behind them, the pale moonbeams turned to a soft early morning yellow, glowing against the floorboards of the entrance hall, matching up with what she had seen in her impossible skylight. 

“Get rid of it,” Sharya replied dully, “I can’t stand it.”

—

She stayed quiet the entire trip to… wherever they were going, curled up in the seat behind Asmodeus, and doing her best to reconcile her expectations with the reality she was facing. 

The Devildom had no sun. It had no concept of day aside from that enforced by the passage of time itself, no dividing line between night-time and day-time, no twilight, no dawn, only a single moon that drifted close before pulling away again in a decaying elliptical orbit. She dully wondered if the lack of a sun meant that there was no change of weather here, and tried to keep from thinking too hard about the ecosystem of the Devildom; she knew that not every plant required sunlight, but surely they couldn’t all survive off moonlight alone? Sighing, she leaned her head against the window, staring at the streets and demons walking along as they drove. 

Some of them didn’t look as human as the brothers; she saw tails, and horns, and different colors of skin in the crowds, reminding her of multiple planets even if they didn’t look like the aliens she was used to. (What she wasn't used to seeing were wings of all different sizes, folded carefully to avoid hitting others, and needle-like spines sticking through clothing along shoulders and backs.) One of the demons she saw looked a bit like a twi’lek, pale yellow skin with swept-back horns that resembled lekku, and she watched that one for as long as she could, her heart aching. She hadn’t seen Master Granuille in months, too consumed by the desperate hunt for her sister, and she would never see the Jedi master again, even after this hellish year was over.

Lifting her head when the car slowed, Sharya glanced past Asmodeus’ shoulder to the building in front of them. “What is that?”

“That is Majolish,” he answered in a singsong voice, “one of the finest clothing establishments the Devildom has seen in centuries~”

“...It looks like a hat,” she said after a long moment.

It really did; painted all over in a rich pink and patterned with white four-pointed stars, the upper half of the shop was built to resemble a conical hat with a wide brim, the tip of it pointed and curling inwards, with a charm hanging from the very end of the hat’s point. There was even a pale yellow band around the base of the cone, matching the trimming on the ‘brim’, and as the car turned the corner into the parking lot, she was able to see a buckle half-hidden in the shadows of the curve. More charms were hanging from the eaves of the building at each of the four corners, a pink striped awning stretched over the entrance of the more traditional cube-shape of the bottom half of the store. 

“Well, yes,” Asmodeus replied, sounding a little put out. “How else would you know what it sells?”

“With signs, usually,” she muttered, sitting back to undo her safety belt. 

“Sharya, wait a moment.” When she looked up, pausing with one hand on the handle, Satan was watching her through the mirror attached to the windshield; as soon as their eyes locked, he gestured, green painted nails flicking and twitching as if throwing out a thin line. A harsh, guttural whisper sounded at the same time, his eyes flaring an even brighter blue-green, and something _snapped_ into place around her neck, yanking her forward before slacking to let her scramble into a corner. “Alright, now you can get out.”

She almost didn’t hear him; panic was rising fast inside her, her heart suddenly pounding as she grabbed at whatever was on her throat, clawing to try and remove it. The thing tightened as her fingers passed through, a tingling energy that felt like the force, but _wasn’t,_ and she choked down a sob--if it had been something made with the force, she could have broken it, shattered it with the strength she was using, but it was _still there, weight_ and _sensation_ closing tighter and tighter around her-- 

“What did you do,” she managed to gasp out, struggling not to scream when she was tugged forward.

Asmodeus was already climbing out of the car, while Satan growled an answer, the engine shutting off. “What Mammon can’t,” he said, leaving the front seat. The door across from her was opened, the demon moving to meet his brother at the trunk, raising his voice to continue talking to her. “I’m missing a meeting of the rare and ancient book club for this, so hurry up.” 

The tugging increased at his command, yanking her to the floorboards after him, trying to drag her towards the door--there was bare flesh under her fingers, no pain-soaked leather cutting her off from the sticky-sweetness of the force, and even when she called on the dark with her terror, feeling her shadow stretch out around her as she tried again and again to destroy the hated collar, it still resisted her--she couldn’t _breathe,_ couldn’t _think,_ could only drown in panic--she was going to be _hurt,_ going to be tortured _again,_ and her bonds were resoundingly silent and _dead_ inside her mind, _oh force, Larec, Naasade, please!!!_

Fingers abruptly snapping made her shriek, arms coiling defensively over her head and shoulders.

The buildup of energy that she was expecting never came, however, was never discharged to boil and rage along her nervous system in crackling lightning, wasn’t burning her bones into ash with agony, and when someone touched her shoulder, it was all she could do not to scream again. But the hand didn’t hurt where it rested on her, and the voice she could almost understand remained gentle despite the promise of injury; one of the demons had climbed into the backseat with her, the one that constantly projected lust and want, and was looking down at her in concern. The one that felt most like a Sith--burning and burning with harshly controlled anger, even when he smiled--was watching through the door when she forced herself to look, bent to see where she had curled up in the small space between the seats. 

Dragging in a gasping breath--nothing on her but clothing, nothing around her neck or ankles or wrists, no freezing cold metal holding her in place and keeping her powerless--helped drown out some of the static that was keeping her from hearing the sounds leaving his mouth, and she forced her lungs to work, to exhale and inhale again and again until she could understand-- 

“Talk to me, sweet thing,” Asmodeus was saying. “I can’t help if you don’t say what’s wrong.”

She knew better than to try and lie, knew better than to keep her words locked up behind a Jedi’s calm mask, but her throat was tight, a knot stealing her voice-- 

“T-the c-collar,” she finally managed to get out, “take it off, p-please, I’ll be good, please just g-get it off!”

“Collar? What collar?”

Another question, oh gods--she didn’t know how to answer that, couldn’t find the thing with her fingers to show him--she curled away, hands back over her head as she sobbed, waiting--

“It’s just a tracking spell, it shouldn’t be causing this--”

This one she could answer, even if it wasn’t framed as a question, and she choked on the words, on being forced to admit this weakness to such thoughtlessly strong beings-- “N-not that--I w-was tortured!”

Her shields were too firmly shut for her to feel their shock, but the hand that had been touching her fell away as if burned.

“Satan, take it off!” 

She faintly heard the growled response, but was more concerned with the way the pressure around her neck vanished, the way the insistent tugging disappeared as if it had never been, and she broke, burying her face in her hands to cry uncontrollably. The demon touched her again, crooning to her in a soft voice, “Shh, shh, it’s okay, calm down, the nasty spell’s gone now--”

It was _not_ okay, she was _alone,_ her master and her lover too far away to keep this from happening again, the phantom weight of her knighting and subsequent fall dragging at her, making her regret ever leaving Granuille’s side on Ossus, regret her vow to save her sister from the empire that had stolen her, and hate every moment in-between, every moment that led to this one--

“Sharya, how can I help?” 

Body still shaking, she shook her head--there was no helping her, but maybe-- “H-hold me?” 

“Alright, sweetheart, hang on.” Strong, slender hands pulled her from her place on the floor, warmth abruptly curling under and around her, more soothing words being spoken as hands stroked down the curve of her bowed spine. “Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you, calm down now, shh.”

Under her hip, she could feel something vibrating angrily; the demon holding her made a noise, shifting her just enough to pull the thing from his pocket and toss it away--with the force surging through her, she could hear the other one tapping at something, every too-hard rap of thumb against screen causing Asmodeus’ comlink to buzz in the seat in front of her.

“Just ignore him, lovely,” was murmured into her hair when he noticed her flinching; both doors were shut, and then the only thing she could hear was the easy, steady breath under her cheek, and the soft words he was speaking. “It’s okay, nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. You're safe.”

  
  


_~fin_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A text-based interlude between brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see previous chapter note re: impatience and me

**The Demon Brothers (6)**

**Satan:** (08:34) LUCIFER.

 **Satan:** (08:34) Where did you find this human.

 **Satan:** (08:35) She was tortured.

 **Satan:** (08:35) Did you know and decide not to tell us?

 **Lucifer:** (read @ 08:36)

 **Beelzebub:** (read @ 08:37)

 **Mammon:** (08:37) Th' fuck?!

 **Satan:** (08:38) Answer me!

 **Leviathan:** (read @ 08:38)

 **Lucifer:** (…)

 **Mammon:** (08:40) Don't ya lie 'bout this, Lucifer!

 **Lucifer:** (08:41) I did not.

 **Lucifer:** (08:42) I know you're doing it already, but compile a list of triggers and share it here.

 **Beelzebub:** (…)

 **Beelzebub:** (08:45) Find out what she likes to eat, I'll make dinner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya's transcripts are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *eyes end of chapter*
> 
> >3

The shopping trip was forgotten, after that; Asmodeus held her through her tears while Satan drove them home, cradling her with one hand at the back of her head and the other petting her. Her hands were still shaky when they got back to the mansion, but she was able to stand, and press into Asmodeus’ side, head bowed so she could scrub at her face as he led her inside. 

Apparently, no one had gotten around to removing the spell that changed the moonlight to sun; the wooden floors glowed brightly as they entered the house, the windows showing a bright blue sky instead of the purple-blue she knew was outside. Sharya glanced up when Asmodeus came to a stop just inside the door, and felt herself pale; Lucifer was waiting for them, standing at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and expression neutral. Great. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already going to have to deal with the eldest brother, when all she wanted to do was crawl back into her bed and cry.

“Sharya, I need to speak with you.” 

Her head started to shake in denial before she could stop it, but Asmodeus spoke for her. “Really, Lucifer? Does it have to be right now?”

“Yes,” was the cool answer. “We’ll be in my office.”

“Sadist,” Satan muttered, turning to look at her. “I’ll get some tea and leave it in your room.”

Nodding wordlessly in thanks, Sharya reluctantly started after Lucifer, following him up the stairs, arms wrapped around herself. 

He took her all the way to the library, where she expected him to go to one of the chairs bracketing the fireplace, blinking when he instead went to the shelves on the far wall; his back to her, he did… something, and a section of wall swung out, revealing a stone hallway. She hadn’t even realized it was there, and stretched a hand out to trail along the stone; as an initiate in the temples on Tython, and then Ossus, she’d discovered and honed a talent for mapping buildings, following the emotional imprints left by the beings that walked them. The fact that her talent had failed her this time was almost alarming, and she made the all-too-easy decision to re-map the mansion at the first opportunity she had, no matter how long it took.

The hallway was short, and felt almost entirely of Lucifer; stress, exhaustion, and frustrated annoyance echoed in her mind, and she thickened her shields, not wanting to feel any more of the demon than she had to. At the end of it was a room, and when she glanced upwards curiously, she realized that it echoed the library in that it also had a balcony running along a second story, and had shelves built into the walls; the stairs to reach it climbed above the fireplace, while a desk had been placed in front of three tall, skinny windows in the far wall. Their backs to the fireplace, facing a wall laden with shelves of what she strongly suspected was alcohol, were two comfortable looking chairs with low backs, a small square table squeezed in between them, and she stared for a long moment at the skull on the wall, and the stuffed bird on the shelf next to it. The bird was so well preserved that she expected it to fluff up its feathers and tilt one beady eye at her, while she couldn’t figure out if the skull came from a herbivore or an omnivore, but her gaze fixed on its long, twisted horns before looking back at Lucifer. From what she remembered, the horns looked like taller versions of the ones he’d sported a few nights previous, and she couldn’t help herself.

“Relative of yours,” she rasped, pointing at the skull.

The look Lucifer gave her as he settled behind the desk was confused for a brief second, and then he followed her finger; his voice was venomous when he replied, “No; I did, however, slaughter that creature myself.”

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered, moving to stand between the fireplace and chairs, still hugging herself. “What do you want, anyway?”

“I want to know what else you’re hiding from me.” Steepling his hands in front of him, Lucifer paused, eyes gleaming at how she couldn’t conceal an almost violent twitch at the wording. “Please, sit.”

“No.” 

They stared at each other for another minute, before he huffed out a breath, and reached under the desk; a folder was dropped into a clear space in between tall stacks of flimsy, and he flipped it open, absently taking a pen from a holder in front of him. “Sharya Moonchaser, aged nineteen. Both parents deceased; mother, Rayla Moonchaser, father, Corso Riggs. One sibling, Lira Moonchaser, aged eighteen. Your legal guardian is listed as one Granuille Maille.” His gaze flicked up as if checking for a reaction before continuing. “You have high scores in history, geography, and,” one eyebrow rose inquisitively, “meditation and astronavigation. Advanced mathematics, diplomacy, literature and languages, various sciences, also high scores.”

“According to this transcript, you should still be in college.” Letting the folder drop again, Lucifer sat back. “So how are you, a human barely past the age of majority, a guardian for this. Galactic Republic of yours?”

“For one, you’re missing a few things,” Sharya said after swallowing. Surely that couldn’t be all that was in the file; the Republic required all its citizens make it through secondary school, while the Jedi had even more rigorous schooling; they had to learn so many cultures and languages, know the ins and outs of galactic law, how to track and do investigations, perform basic field medicine and slicing, repair broken hyperdrives and busted starships, and that was without going into specialized fields… Jedi had to be as self-sufficient as possible, simply because there was no guarantee of support or backup in the field, and that wasn’t even going into learning how to use the force, or how to handle a lightsaber without cutting off your own arm. “For another, I started training for it when I was five. My sister started at the same time.”

One eyebrow rose. “Your government endorses child soldiers?”

“Not… exactly.” Glancing to the side, she leaned against one of the chairs, but didn’t elaborate; maybe the chair would hide how she was beginning to shake. 

There was another long silence, one that was broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. 

His face beginning to twist into a faint, irritated frown, Lucifer turned a page, clicking the pen once, twice. “There is also mention of an apprenticeship of some kind. Care to enlighten me on that, at least?”

Her response was a short, sharp, “No.”

“Sharya,” he started, glaring at her now. “I would much prefer that you talk to me, rather than making me drag it out of you. I _will_ get answers, one way or another.”

“Would your prince approve of those methods,” she snapped, fingers tightening on her arms; she straightened again, took a step back and focused on the fireplace. “And the apprentice thing is… A recent development.” 

“As recent as your torture?”

Breath leaving in a sudden rush, Sharya couldn’t keep her head from whipping around to look at him; there was a sense of satisfaction radiating from him, one that reminded her even more of Larec, no matter that the eyes staring at her were red and not molten gold. “What _exactly_ is in that file,” she managed; the force was shivering under her skin, the hidden door to the library open behind her, and the demon still sitting behind his desk. “You have my parents’ names, my sister’s name and _age,_ you even know about _Granya._ What more do you want that _isn’t_ there already?”

“I _need_ to know if you are a danger to this realm.” Lucifer’s voice was a soft growl, and he stood, walking around the desk to rest one hip against it, arms crossing. “Therefore, I need to know everything you insist on hiding from me, every skill and every bit of training that you have received. ‘Guardian’ usually includes some definition of ‘warrior,’ and I will not let an unknown threat wander about freely.”

Force, this day was awful. She sucked in air, backed up again, made herself glare at the demon in a bid to ignore how much she was shaking, and how close she was to trying to flee. “Free? You call locking me in my room, having your brother put some kind of, of spell on me, and hunting me like an _animal_ wandering about _freely?!”_

“I call it containing a threat.” The demon’s eyes shifted as he spoke, and she suddenly felt energy brushing past her; she jerked, looking just in time to see the door swing shut, glancing back as Lucifer straightened once more. Not quite able to control how her breath quickened--regretting the fact that she had left her stolen knife hidden in her room this morning, instead of tucking it away in her clothing--Sharya watched with wide eyes as he stepped forward, moving closer to her.

“Stay back,” she demanded, voice shrill. 

“Do you not remember? I don’t take orders from humans.” One hand raised in a gesture that she recognized, and she let out a short scream, scrambling backward on slick marble tile, struggling to continue focusing past her panic, to cut through the energy before it touched her--

She was yanked to a halt not even half a meter from where she had started, invisible bonds wrapping around her, securing her arms to her sides and her feet to the floor.

“Why are you afraid of collars?” 

Chest heaving for breath that wouldn’t come, she stared up at him helplessly; the force wasn’t enough to break the energy holding her, wasn’t enough to save her in this damned reality, and he moved closer, measured steps whisper quiet. “I assume it has something to do with this torture you claim to have suffered. Am I correct?”

It was finally happening; some part of her had been waiting for this, expected it from the moment Lucifer had tangled fingers in her hair and dragged her from the attic, and now she couldn’t even find her voice to beg him to stop. She was exhausted from her earlier panic attack and from being terrified for the past week, of facing these too-powerful demons alone, her hold on the force slipping again and again each time she thought she had a grip on it. At last she managed a silent, jerky nod, but it apparently wasn’t enough for him; one black-gloved hand disappeared into a pocket, and a soft whimper escaped her, hands clenching uselessly at her sides as she squirmed, desperate to get away. 

“There is another name for the Devildom,” he said musingly when she didn’t--couldn’t--answer. “You might know it.”

“In the human realm, it is called Hell.” Lucifer was close enough to reach out and touch her, and she grabbed for the force once again, fighting through her terror to try and remember the words Larec had murmured to her in the half-light of the Orion; she’d been using the light, but maybe the dark side _was_ stronger, would be able to break her free even though it hadn’t helped earlier--

“We demons were given a job at the very beginning of time, one that is very important.” His voice lowered, his hand coming back into view. A collar hung from his fingers, a length of innocuous black leather that caused the tears building in her eyes to fall in hot streaks down her face, more choked sounds leaving her; it didn’t resonate like an inhibitor collar, hadn’t been drenched in pain and hopeless darkness, but she was still afraid of it, still didn't want it touching her. He pulled the tongue of the thing free almost absently, gaze dropping to her neck. “We punish the souls of humans; wicked and evil humans, ones who deserve pain and torment for eons.” 

“Are you sure you wish to continue to be difficult? That you don’t want to answer my questions?” 

_~fin_


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer gets his answers.

Lucifer stepped even closer, red eyes drifting to her neck. “Are you sure you wish to continue to be difficult? That you don’t want to answer my questions?” 

He waited another moment, watching as she gasped for air, her eyes locked on the collar he held, before grabbing her chin and forcing her head back, bringing the thing up as if to fasten it on her--the knot in her throat finally loosened, and the sound that escaped her was too soft to be a shriek, but at least there were words in it. 

_ “Please don’t!!” _

Twisting and squirming against the energy he’d wrapped around her, Sharya struggled to break free of his grip--it’s only been five days since she was mistaken for an enslaved Jedi, and locked into a deadly collar, only been a handful of weeks since she’d been dragged through a Sith temple with another cutting her off from the force and leaving her utterly helpless--the one the demon was holding wasn’t an inhibitor collar, wouldn’t explode or strangle her if she tried to rip it off, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even maintain her grasp on the force with how scared she was-- 

“P-please, I’ll t-tell you w-whatever you want, just  _ please _ d-don’t put it on me--”

The hand gripping her chin released her, the collar disappearing into a pocket where she couldn’t see it, and she slumped in her bonds, crying brokenly. 

So much for trying to be strong, for trying to protect herself from these demons and this place by being as fierce as possible; surely her fate wasn't to constantly be at the mercy of those stronger than she was? If so, how would she save Lira, how would she cling to the person she had been before falling? How could she possibly keep from losing herself utterly to darkness, if she was always this weak, this helpless?

“Finally, you make a wise decision,” Lucifer said, turning to his desk; the energy binding her fell away, and she crumbled to the ground, shaking hands covering her face. “Remain on the floor or move to a chair, I don’t care which.”

“F-fuck you,” she managed to gasp, sending him a watery glare through her fingers. “A-ask your da-damn questions already.”

“What is missing from your transcript, aside from your martial training?”

That she could answer, even if she had to force herself to calm, pressing into the chair next to her and hugging her knees to her chest, doing her best to ignore how she still shook from head to toe. “F-field m-medicine. S-some starship repair. Wilderness s-survival. Galactic l-law and investigation, tactics. Computer coding.” 

He was writing as she answered, rattling off everything that she had learned from the order, her voice gradually firming. “Going from our conversation the other day, I assume you know at least one other language, and have found a way around the translation spells. While you won’t be needing them here, I’d like to know how many you are fluent in.” Red eyes glanced up. “Some of your classes will require you to speak and understand the language the spells are written in.”

She had to pause, count in her head before answering. “F-four. Conversational in t-two or three more.”

“A polyglot. Excellent. And your apprenticeship? What were you to learn from it?” 

That made her heart clench, and she bowed her head, swallowing hard. “How to be S-sith.”

The soft scratch of pen on flimsy stopped. “Sith? The empire you are sworn to fight?”

She nodded, flinching at the reminder. “I. I fell. And I can’t go back to the Jedi... or they’ll kill me.”

Surprise flashed through the force, and she looked to see Lucifer laying the pen down and sitting back in his chair. “When did this defection occur.”

“A month ago,” she whispered at last. “When I found the Sith lord who kidnapped my sister. After I tried to kill him, and failed.”

“I… see.” One hand going to his chin, the demon frowned. “I assume that is when your torture occurred, as well.”

She was starting to shiver again, the tremors that had slowed strengthening, but she forced herself to nod. 

“You said you can’t go back to the Jedi.” It wasn’t a question. “Why should that affect your relationship with the republic? Are they not one and the same?”

“It. It’s complicated.” 

“Uncomplicate it for me.”

“The. The Jedi are kind of.” She swallowed, head dropping. “Separate, from the republic. We--they protect it, and all it stands for. Democracy, freedom, the basic rights that all beings should have, and that the empire would deny. The order started before the Republic, built itself on Tython; they searched the galaxy for those w-who could use the force, and gathered them to teach them how to use it. When the republic formed, they pledged loyalty to it.”

“The force,” Lucifer interrupted. “Explain that.”

“The force? It, it’s life,” Sharya said, glancing up, confused. “It’s the energy generated by everything living, the energy that binds the universe.”

The demon slowly covered his face with one hand, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before glancing back up. “Are you telling me. That there is a collection of people who can access the very fabric of the universe? And that you are one of them?” When she hesitantly nodded, he made a short, muffled sound, and stood, moving to a bottle-laden shelf and out of her line of sight until she shuffled forward, peering around the chair to watch as he poured a measure of dark red liquid into a glass. He didn’t raise it to his lips but stared at it for a moment, gaze flicking back to her. 

“Is that... Not how your spells work?”

“No,” he answered shortly, finally knocking back the liquor and looking at the bottle. “Does this empire have a similar order?”

“S-sort of.” Fingers tightening where she hugged herself, Sharya made herself reveal the awful truth of the empire, and of the Jedi. “There was… a schism. Some Jedi felt that, that they should be in power, that they could use the force for personal gain, instead of being protectors. They. They fought, the dark side against the light, and. The dark side lost, was exiled. That’s where the empire came from, and why the Jedi are sworn to fight it.”

Muttering something in the same hissing language she’d heard in the attic, Lucifer poured himself another, larger drink; capping the bottle, he turned, leaned against the counter and stared at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “And you joined this empire.” Nodding jerkily, she watched as he swallowed half his drink. “Why?”

“I broke the code. I-I--Jedi aren’t supposed to want r-revenge, and. When I went after L-Larec, I did it because I wanted him to pay for what he did.” 

“Yet you failed.” He was still looking at her, and repeated himself, “Why did you join them?”

“I had no choice. If you fall, you die.” She might have been imagining the emotion that flickered across his face, a mix of sympathy and understanding. 

But then he looked away, gaze distant. “It has been a long morning for you,” he said at last. “We can continue this later. You are no longer confined to your room, although you are not to leave the house without an escort, or your D.D.D.” 

  
  


_ ~fin _


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beel makes some cookies, and Sharya finally gets her tea.

Satan was in the library when she left the hidden doorway to Lucifer’s office, a book in hand as he lounged in one of the chairs bracketing the fireplace. Blue-green eyes flicking up, he marked his place and set the book aside, standing to approach her. She froze, hands clenching where she hugged herself; without the buffer of his brothers, controlled rage beat against her shields, barraging her with an anger that burned like a sun. 

“H-he said,” she managed to force out, willing her feet to move, to carry her past him, “that I don’t have to be locked up again.” 

They didn’t move, remaining rooted to the floor even when he stopped, far enough away that he couldn’t reach for her; the anger that she felt flared as he looked her up and down, gaze lingering on her whitened knuckles before going to the hallway behind her. “Well then. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?”

Kitchen? She spent a moment debating, and then finally nodded, the lure of tea-warmed ceramic nearly overwhelming in its intensity. It was also right next to her room, and she would be able to go to the ‘fresher to wash the half-dried tear tracks from her face. It took him turning his back to her to get her feet moving, but she couldn’t stop her head from dropping to watch the floor. 

“Beel offered to make dinner,” he said as they left the library, “but since you’re not from this galaxy, it’s rather hard for us to know what you’d even like.”

One of the things that Naasade had made on the way to Dromund Kaas popped into her head at that, and her gaze darted up for a second. “Is there chocolate here? Or peanut butter?”

“If Beel hasn’t eaten it all, yes.”

\--

Devildom chocolate tasted different; it was richer, smoother than what she’d had on the Orion, and it was all she could do to hold back an embarrassing noise when she bit into the first still-soft and warm cookie, the chocolate leaving smears on her fingertips that she licked off; she’d already moaned at her first sip of tea in days, hands clenched tight on the mug as Beelzebub made the no-bake cookies she’d described, flushing and hiding behind it when Asmodeus grinned at the sound.

The kitchen held more than the red-haired demon when she and Satan arrived; Asmodeus had been sitting on the edge of the table shoved to the side, scrolling through a datapad, while Mammon lurked near the counter his brother was working at, eyes flicking over to her in between sneaking bites of food. 

Beelzebub was… Not shocked, but possibly horrified when he found out exactly how little she’d eaten in the time she’d been here, and had immediately set to mixing and baking and cooking, rapidly producing enough food that Asmodeus had been forced to move into a chair instead of keeping his perch on the table, complaining loudly about the possibility of stains on his clothes. He’d also eaten a fair amount of it _while_ cooking, almost absently munching his way through the ingredients even as he added them to the mix. 

Luckily, the demons (by design or accident, she wasn’t sure, and didn’t really feel like asking) weren’t crowding her, nor demanding answers to questions like Lucifer had; she’d claimed the chair closest to the exit that led to her room, all but curling up in it as she drank her tea, speaking only when she had to, otherwise watching silently. Satan was helping with the cooking, smacking Mammon’s hands away whenever he noticed them sneaking towards a dish, and Asmodeus sat across from her, still on his datapad, occasionally glancing at her measuringly. Sharya wasn’t quite used to the hubbub of four loud people in one small area anymore--she’d had a few weeks of being with Larec and Naasade, getting to know the two and learning how to move around them as they did chores or trained together. Before the lonely year that she’d spent hunting for her sister, she’d lived with Granuille, and had been used to people around her; one of the combat masters on Ossus, the elderly twi’lek was beloved by many of the younger Jedi. If they hadn’t been off-planet on some mission or other, there was almost always company in Granya’s apartment--the kel dor that would be taking over for her when she finally retired had been a frequent visitor, while another Jedi had lived with them after she’d lost her sight in an attack, adding another body to the cozy quarters.

Even with the careful distance they were maintaining, Sharya was quickly reaching her limits, both in the amounts of food she could eat--it was very much a protein-heavy feast that Beelzebub and Satan were making for her, involving a surprising amount of organs and, oddly, insects (there had been talk of fried tarantulas, up until she saw the container being pulled out of the frankly massive coldstore--she’d learned how to survive on everything that was edible to humans, had long ago gotten over most of her squeamishness about eating bugs--but the eight-legged arachnids in the container, moving sluggishly from the cold, had made her squeak out a very quick “No thank you!” when offered. They were huge, and creepy and shudder-inducing, and she was _not_ going to be _eating_ one!)--and in the emotions that grated against her shields. She’d not been able to meditate the entire time she’d been here, too tightly strung to relax into the embrace of the force, and the brothers were just… so loud. 

Everyone had natural psychic shields, whether they were trained for it or not; the defenses could be overpowered or even destroyed, leaving the being open and vulnerable to mental attack, and while hers were not only new, but remade entirely to account for her recently uncovered empathic talents, they had thinned under the constant stress of the last week. The demon brothers were almost continuously projecting _something;_ even sitting across from her and alternating between his datapad and arguing over what foods they were planning to feed her, Asmodeus radiated a low level of _want,_ of lust. Whenever Beelzebub drew close to place a new thing in front of her to try, a phantom hunger clawed at her belly, and Mammon exuded avarice, a desperate, yearning _need_ for something; Satan’s anger was dim against their emotions, however, as harshly controlled as her master could be. It was kept hidden under a faux calm, lips spreading in a smirk at each of Mammon’s whines when his hand was caught with a wooden spoon, but she still was wary of it, no matter how controlled he seemed.

Waiting until her latest mug was nearly emptied--the tea was something light and floral, a soft brown against the white ceramic, tasting almost like honey--Sharya straightened, letting her feet drop to the floor, swallowing against sudden nerves. “I-I’m going to go back to my room,” she started into a lull in the conversation. “Thank you, for the tea, and the food.”

Looking up from where he was pulling something out of the oven--the wood-fired oven, even, and she was still bewildered by that technological choice--Beelzebub smiled. “It’s no problem--I was already planning on making a snack anyway.”

At her words, Asmodeus tapped one last time at the datapad, and then stood, tucking it under his arm. "Mind if I walk with you?"

Sort of, but she didn't say it, simply nodded and snagged a few more cookies to take with her. 

Tsking, Satan came over and grabbed the still mostly full plate, dumping the remainder of them into a clear container and shoving it into her hands after snapping a lid on it. "If you don't take them," he said, "Beel's going to eat them all. Or Mammon."

"Oi, no I wouldn't," the white-haired demon squawked as Sharya and Asmodeus left the kitchen.

Waiting until they were far enough that his brothers couldn't hear, Asmodeus shot her a look. "If you want," he started carefully, "I have a cream that does wonders for bruising."

Blinking, Sharya stared for a moment, before realizing; he was talking about the bite marks that she hadn’t been able to hide last night. Shaking her head, she looked away. "I want to keep them," she answered. "Other than this," a twist of her wrist made her bracelet glitter, "and my clothes, it's the only thing I have from them."

"Them?"

"My master, a-and my… my girlfriend." She flushed as she said it, edging a little further away from him. They’d not discussed labels, but from what she knew of relationships, ‘girlfriend’ fit the best for Naasade, although she couldn’t bring herself to label Larec as anything other than lover, or master; ‘boyfriend’ just felt too young for the distinguished Sith.

"When you say master, how do you mean? If you don't mind, that is," Asmodeus added quickly.

Pausing just before her room, she glanced at him again, trying to find the words to describe their relationship. 

It was… difficult. Jedi weren't allowed attachments, were supposed to abstain from romance and love and sex, while Sith were the exact opposite; their strength came from their emotions, from embracing everything they felt and using it, rather than pushing it all away like the Jedi did, stifling their emotions in order to commune with the force with a clear mind and heart.

"I'm his apprentice," she finally said, ignoring the still uncomfortable twisting in her gut at voicing the words--Jedi took padawans, Sith took apprentices. Sometimes literally. "He was teaching me how to use the dark side."

His brow crinkled slightly, but he didn't ask for clarification like Lucifer had, instead saying, “It was consensual, then?"

Her cheeks heated even more and she nodded, eyes dropping. Aside from that first time, it had all been consensual, every bitemark and every fingertip bruised into her skin ones that she had welcomed, instead of cowering from.

"Okay, lovely, just wanted to check. Also, here," he held out the datapad to her, waiting until she took it to step away again, keeping his hands in view. "I picked out some clothes I thought you'd like. My credit card is already saved, so all you have to do is hit the check out tab when you're done, although we'll have to go to the store for any undergarments you need. I'm good at guessing sizes, but nothing is worse than an ill-fitting brassiere."

Bewildered, Sharya took a second look at the demon, trying to figure out if he was joking; she'd never worn a bra despite her bust size--had never seen the point of it when she was almost always covered by the traditional tunics and robes of the order--so she wasn't even sure what to look for when it came to male-presenting beings wearing feminine underwear. Grinning at her obvious confusion, Asmodeus waved jauntily and continued on, leaving her standing in front of her door. "I'll see you at dinner. Text me if you need anything."

To her surprise, there was a teapot sitting on the table in place of the breakfast tray she’d left there; Satan had kept his word, even if it didn’t smell like the tea she’d had in the kitchen. Closing the door, she leaned heavily against the solid wood before thinking to check, to make sure that whatever had kept her from opening it the night before was gone. 

The knob turned easily, hinges silent as she opened it, and a tightness in her chest finally eased a little. Breath leaving in a shuddering sigh, she closed the door again, locking it; it was her choice to be locked in this time, and she wasn’t going to open it again even if she had to barricade it shut to keep Lucifer out. 

Dropping the container of cookies next to the teapot and the accompanying mug, she went to the bed, flopping facedown onto the mattress; she didn’t twitch for a long moment after, using the force to unzip her ankle boots and let them fall to the floor with soft thumps instead of shifting to remove them by hand. 

Force. She was so tired. Summoning the comforter from where she had left it so long ago this morning, Sharya curled up under it, hiding herself completely under the fluffy thing and hugging a pillow to her chest. It was nothing like being held by Naasade, smelled nothing like Larec’s mature, fragrant spice, and tears rose unbidden to cloud her vision, the fresh salt burning as they fell. Three hundred and sixty-two days left.

  
  


~fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor edit, because counting backwards can be hard :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya does some online shopping, Mammon gets a manicure.

When she thought to check the datapad Asmodeus had left her with, sometime after curling into her bed, it turned out that the demon had been far more accurate in his clothing choices this time around. The pictures she found in the cart were of long, flowy shirts with v-necks or shallow scoop necklines, the sleeves sometimes half-hiding the hands of the models that wore them, while the trousers were mostly leggings and something called ‘bootcut jeans.’ There were also camisoles and form-fitting shirts with three-quarter sleeves for pairing with the flowy tops, as well as a number of cardigans similar to the one she had worn to the disaster of a dinner yesterday, and she scrolled through curiously, mug of tea and the container of cookies in easy reach.

One thing caught her eye, however, once she had navigated her way out of the cart and into the main section of the site; the sizing systems meant nothing to her, and she paused, considering. She was short enough that Larec could use her as a headrest, arms draped over her shoulders to keep her close, and whenever she stole one of his shirts, the hem ended halfway down her thighs, the sleeves long enough that even rolled up, they still covered her hands. Lucifer had the same build as her master, was possibly the same height if not taller, although the idea of him holding her the same way made her shudder. 

Grabbing her comlink--or D.D.D., whatever--she went to the messages, opening up a new one.

**Sharya:** (15:13) Asmo?

The response was immediate, a cartoon of a red-robed creature snapping to attention along with a text.

**Asmodeus:** (15:13) Yes, lovely?

 **Sharya:** (15:14) I have a question? About sizes?

 **Asmodeus:** (15:16) Sure, what do you need to know?

Gnawing at her bottom lip, she finally made herself tap out the question.

**Sharya:** (15:19) What size shirt does Lucifer wear?

 **Sharya:** (15:19) It’s not for him!

 **Sharya:** (15:20) I just saw something in the men’s stuff.

His answer this time was a little slower, three dots popping up for a few seconds before it came through.

**Asmodeus:** (15:21) Is it a fitted shirt, or something loose?

 **Sharya:** (15:22) Loose. It’s got a hood too, and zips up the front, if that makes a difference.

 **Asmodeus:** (15:24) With men’s clothes, not so much. Try a 1x, and if you don’t like the fit, we can always exchange it for a different one.

Sending him the character emblazoned with ‘thanks’, she picked up the datapad, adding it to the cart after picking the correct size. 

Apparently, Asmodeus didn’t care a whit about shipping costs; he’d already had the one-day delivery option selected, and she fought down the almost instinctive guilt she felt at seeing the numbers on the screen. He’d said that she could order everything when she was done, and she’d only added a few things besides the shirt, but she still cringed at seeing the cheerful pop-up of Payment Accepted! It had been well into the four-digit range even before the shipping had been added.

Either way, according to the estimate, she would see her clothing by afternoon tomorrow. Sending the mug back over to the table, she stood and headed for the door, Asmodeus' datapad in hand, the D.D.D tucked into her sash. All she had to do was follow the trail of want through the house to give it back to him, and then she could crawl back into bed.

\--

“I can’t believe,” Sharya heard as she got closer to Asmodeus’ room, “that you managed to _destroy_ my amazing manicure in less than three days!” The demon sounded annoyed as he continued, “If you manage to do the same to this, I’ll skin you alive, _and_ tell Lucifer about your newest credit card!” 

Halting just outside, she peered around the edge of the door, searching until she found him; to her surprise, Amosdeus was at a vanity loaded down with tiny bottles, lecturing Mammon while bent over and holding one wrist captive. He seemed to be as intent on what he was doing as he was on the lecture, occasionally glaring at Mammon and pointing at him to emphasize a point, a nail file in one hand. 

“Um,” she started, still not past the doorjamb. “Should I come back later?”

“One moment, lovely, go ahead and sit wherever,” Asmodeus replied, not looking. “What were you even doing, breaking rocks? That’s what your head is for, stupid Mammon!” 

“You ain’t s’pposed to talk to me like that,” Mammon said weakly, “I’m your big brother!”

Sharya blinked at that; no matter that his body language read as chastised and uncomfortable, the demon’s force presence said something different. As soon as he’d heard her, he’d shifted minutely, shoulders drawing back and spine straightening, eyes going sharp behind his tinted glasses; she didn’t think it was in defense, or at least not entirely. It almost reminded her of a soldier’s trained reflex, going from relaxed to ready-to-fight in an instant, making her decide on the hanging chair in the opposite corner to sit in. 

It was very comfortable and perfectly sized for her to curl completely into, legs tucked underneath her and datapad in her lap, but it took her sharpening her vision to be able to clearly watch as Asmodeus released the wrist he’d been holding. “Soak,” he commanded, pointing at a shallow bowl slightly off to one side. Mammon’s left hand was already in another, but he meekly obeyed while Asmodeus shifted things around, packing some items up and taking others out of a large pink and aqua striped tote near his feet. “I hope the clothes were more to your liking this time around,” the demon said, finally turning to look at her. His brow furrowed at the distance between them before smoothing over, an easy smile spreading his lips. “I only bite if asked, sweet thing. You don’t have to sit all the way over there, although I understand the desire to stay away from Mammon. His idiocy might be contagious.”

The white-haired demon glared but kept his hands in the bowls. “Oi,” he started, leaning forward. “Stop callin’ me stupid!”

“Credit. Card,” his brother answered coldly, and Mammon subsided with a low grumble. “So, was I close? I didn’t have much to go on, but I tried to stick with things similar to your current ensemble.”

“I liked them a lot better,” she replied, glancing back at the datapad. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t like the others.”

“Pssh. Don’t apologize for having a preferred style, it’s my fault for making assumptions.” Hooking an elbow over the back of his chair, Asmodeus grinned. “I was led to believe that we would be getting someone from the local human realm, and shopped accordingly.”

Lips quirking reluctantly at that, Sharya let one foot slide out from under her, kicking lightly to set the chair swinging. “Well, you got more warning than I did.”

“Yeah, a coupl’a decades of warning,” Mammon muttered. “Lord Diavolo’s been plannin’ this fer ages, I don’t know how he got it _that_ wrong.”

Honestly, neither did she. “Where do you want your,” she paused, trying to remember the word and lifting the device to wave it once. Not a datapad. “Tablet?”

“You can leave it there if you like.” Turning back around, Asmodeus added, “Enough soaking, Mammon. Luckily, you didn’t ruin the cuticles with your rock breaking. Now hold still, this won’t take long.”

‘This’ resulted in Mammon yelping, and Asmodeus smiling innocently at the sounds, chiding him to be still, and Sharya kept watching from her perch for a while longer, growing more curious; this was obviously a routine for both of them, the talk sounding like well-worn conversations as Asmodeus traded one tool for another, switching from left hand to right. She stood and moved closer when she realized that he was about to apply color, wanting to see it clearly. When he’d held her in the car, she’d noticed a delicate pattern in the alternating pink and green polish, focusing on that to tune out the remainder of her panic, and she wanted to know how he’d done it.

Up close, she got to watch as three of Mammon’s nails were painted with solid layers of gold, and was puzzled by the tiny strips of tape that crisscrossed the nails of his unpainted middle and ring fingers. “Why the tape?”

“All part of the design, dear.” Asmodeus was only glancing up to locate the bottle of nail polish as he spoke, concentrating on the way the tiny brush was fanning as he worked. “Have you not had a manicure before?” 

“Never had the time for it,” she answered; arms crossing, she moved to the bed, settling on the edge of the mattress. From here, she could still see the demon painting but wasn’t standing directly behind him. “And it wouldn’t have lasted too long, either. I work with my hands too much.”

“Well, we’re going to have to change that, _everyone_ deserves self-care mani-pedis.” The gold paint was capped, but not put up, and he scooted back from the vanity with one last warning look at Mammon. “Do not smear that.” Extending one hand as he turned around, Asmodeus asked, “May I?”

Pausing only a little, Sharya stood and stepped close enough for him to examine her fingers, tilting and turning so he could see from every angle. When he motioned for her left, she hesitated again, thumb rubbing the silver ring at the base of her middle finger; it was connected to the bracelet fastened around her wrist by a web of delicate chains, both bracelet and web glittering with purple stones. 

“Oh my,” the demon cooed, fingers warm where they traced the chains. “This is _gorgeous~_ Such delicate work, and that _etching~”_ He ran his thumb across the dragon skull carved into the ring, and the spine that curled around the band. “What are these stones, I’ve never seen a clearer purple!”

“I’m not sure,” she answered truthfully, trying not to twitch; his touch was so light it tickled. “It’s made with songsteel, though.”

“Song steel?” That was Mammon, and she glanced up to see him craning his head to watch; the greedy need that she’d felt when he’d mentioned selling her clothes last night had sharpened, a charming smile beginning to lift the corners of his mouth. “I never heard of that. Can I see?”

“No.” 

“Meanie,” he grumbled, smile dropping from his face as his gaze slid to the side. “Jus’ wanted to see it.”

“Don’t care,” Sharya answered, swallowing down sudden anxiety and tugging at Asmodeus’ hold on her. 

After one last admiring stroke of his thumb across the dragon skull, Asmodeus released her, a faint frown creasing his brow. “Can you take it off, though? I wouldn’t want to damage it, and chemicals don’t always play nicely with metal.”

“N-not really,” she said, stepping back and hiding the bracelet by crossing her arms; at least she wasn’t shaking yet. “My master has the key.”

Frown deepening, he looked her up and down, as if he was working something out in his head, and she took another step away, angling towards the door. “I’ll find a way to work around it then, to give you the full spa-day experience,” he announced, turning back to face Mammon. “Come by anytime, lovely.”

Relieved, Sharya nodded, and turned, doing her best to keep her pace casual. She could feel eyes on her the entire time, however, and only relaxed after her door was closed behind her, the lock engaged once again. She needed to meditate in the worst way; not only had Asmodeus’ touch tickled, it had sent heat curling into her, and she couldn’t decide if it had been intentional or not. Kneeling in the space at the foot of her bed, she breathed deeply, hoping that she would finally be able to clear her mind enough to relax, to lose herself in the sticky flow of the force, and strengthen her weakened defenses. 

Some hours later, when a text came through telling her about dinner, the only thing she’d accomplished was falling asleep sitting up, and she sighed as she straightened. Maybe dinner would be more bearable if she got there before Lucifer picked her seat for her.

~fin


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A face-to-face meeting with the prisoner in the attic. Sort of.
> 
> there is sex in this! which means the rating is going up.

Dinner was. Tolerable, compared to last night’s. Asmodeus and Satan had changed places, Satan a chair closer to his older brother, while she had taken the empty seat next to the ash-blond, staring pointedly at Lucifer before sitting; Leviathan didn’t even show up, his place at the table empty throughout the whole meal. More of the foods that she had tried and liked earlier were already close to her, Beelzebub keeping mostly away from the dishes, and there was even a huge teapot waiting for her; conversation largely flowed around her, the brothers backing off if she didn’t want to answer, although Lucifer’s brow furrowed a little more with each ignored question.

She’d fully expected him to call her back into his office after, staying dressed and curled into her corner until it was clear that he wouldn’t be coming for her again. Well past midnight, Sharya sighed and stripped at last, pulling on pajamas after carefully folding her tunics and sash; hopefully the fabric would hold up to a year’s worth of frequent washing, as she was planning on wearing it as often as possible, no matter how similar the other clothes would be.

Not bothering with the bed except to reclaim the comforter, she made herself a better nest than last night’s had been, preparing herself for hours of staring at the ceiling before she untensed enough to sleep. 

Instead, she quickly found herself blinking, relaxing bonelessly into the well-cushioned space after only a few minutes.

_ Must be more tired than I thought. _ Yawning, she nuzzled against her pillow, unable to stay awake any longer. 

Breath deepening, she closed her eyes, asleep before she knew it.

\----

“Oh  _ force,” _ she moaned, her captured wrists twisting under Naasade’s grip; she was wiggling and writhing, struggling to get closer to Larec, to grind harder against the three strong fingers he was fucking her with. “Please let me cum, master, please…”

Eyes crinkling in a grin, he leaned down to tease her with a kiss, lips pressing butterfly soft against hers. “Not yet, little one,” he purred, dragging his fingers from her with a soft wet noise. “You haven’t earned it yet.” He pulled back, held them to her lips, let her whimper and whine as she sucked them clean, the taste of her own slick familiar as his cum or Naasade’s arousal. “On your knees.”

She didn’t get a chance to argue, Naasade guiding her down without letting go, chuckling low and dark in her ear before fastening teeth in her neck. It felt like they had been playing at this forever; she ached with need, but the heat boiling through her wasn’t deep-seated like it usually was when they denied her, keeping her on edge for hours before letting her come. Even so, she still moaned around his length, ground helplessly against Naasade’s fingers and the shiny black leather of his boot, allowed them to manhandle her and pin her to the wall, begging them both for an orgasm that they might allow, or might deny. She knew they weren’t that cruel, but it was part of the game they played, the same as when she pleaded with Larec to curl a hand around her throat and squeeze, or when she took control of Naasade’s nervous system, forcing the woman to come without being touched once.

“Beg for your orgasm, kitten,” Naasade eventually whispered to her, breath warm in her ear. “Beg for it one more time and  _ mean _ it, and we might let you come.”

The words were an echo of what Larec had growled at her in the cell, when he’d tricked and coerced her into finishing her fall; instead of paralysing her with fear, however, they simply made her cry louder, desperate for the white-hot pleasure that had been dancing just outside her reach. 

“Master, can I please please cum, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, Naasade, please!” 

“My sweet apprentice.” Her head was tilted, Larec leaning to kiss her hungrily as Naasade’s fingers plunged back into her, curling to make lightning go off in her head while he devoured her cries of ecstasy.  _ Come for me. _

She was still trembling with aftershocks when Larec tilted her head further, thumb caressing her bottom lip; she obeyed the unspoken command, dropping back to her knees as she spread her lips wide. Oddly, he’d not taken his own pleasure yet--he normally didn’t wait if it was both of them using her, taking her as often as he could, until her sex was dripping with his cum--and she was more puzzled when he remained silent, his grip on her hair tight as he controlled her head, the rumbling snarls that made her ache for him missing; even so, Sharya licked and sucked until he flooded her tongue with hot-salty-bitter, a single growled exclamation leaving him. His hand only left her hair after he’d made her open her mouth, show him the mess on her tongue, caressing hair out of her face on the way to curl about her throat; her eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed, pressing into the touch trustingly.

The warmth at her throat faded slowly, and she blinked, opening her eyes to find that she was now standing on a flat, featureless plain, soft white wisps drifting across the ground. Everything past a few meters was blurred, and the backs of her eyes prickled as she curled her arms around herself, head bowing. 

Of course it was a dream. 

Not lifting her head, she began walking, uncaring of where she went. “Stars and force both,” she whispered, scrubbing at her face once the tears escaped her control. “I miss you two so much.”

Distances in dreams didn’t matter--in lucid dreams, it mattered even less--so Sharya wasn’t sure how far she’d walked when she heard something. She flinched at it, and turned her back on the sound; the voice calling for her wasn’t Naasade, wasn’t Larec, or Granya or even Lira, and so she didn’t want to deal with it. She’d given enough of her life to the Republic, she had absolutely no desire to do its missions in her dreams, much less when she wasn’t even in the same reality.

“You’re Sharya, right?”

Twitching, she turned a different direction, hunching inwards a little more. “Go away.” 

“Please, I need your help."

The distress in his voice made her stomach twist, and she slowed, hands tight on her arms. “I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone.”

“Yes you can, please!”

Gritting her teeth and blinking away tears, she looked up, just in time to see an indistinct figure forming in the near distance; taller than she was, he faded into the mist, a dark jacket making his edges fuzzy. Even his hair was bleeding into gray, the same blue she had seen in the attic falling into sharp purple eyes darker than her own. Coming to an abrupt stop, she stared at him. “What are you doing in my dream?”

“I. I need help.” 

“And I want to go home,” she snapped; Jedi were supposed to help whoever needed it, but she was training to be Sith and could afford to be selfish, no matter how guilty she felt. "Looks like we’re both out of luck.” 

His eyes widened when she continued, “Besides, you’re a demon, why can’t you do it yourself?”

“I-I’m not a demon,” he sputtered, recoiling a little, one hand rising as if to hide from her words. “I’m human, just like you!”

“Bantha shit,” Sharya said flatly, watching him closely. “You felt the same as the others.”

Something flickered in his face, too fast for her to identify, before he slumped, looking to the side. “I’m not like them, though,” he finally said after a long moment, voice soft. “I’m a prisoner here, and I’m not strong enough to get out on my own. Lucifer saw to that.”

“I don’t believe you. Besides,” she sighed, turning away, “this is just a dream.” Why her brain had latched onto the young man in the attic instead of leaving her to Larec and Naasade, she didn’t know and didn’t want to think about. She was smart enough to put the clues together, no matter how unfamiliar the tech was. “And it’s one I don’t want. Go away.”

“Wha--no--wait!” 

A hand suddenly grabbed her, yanking her back to him; before she could do more than draw breath to yell at him, he’d wrapped an arm around her waist, tilting her backward and sealing his lips against hers in a kiss. “Mmph!”

Stunned, she clawed at his chest, struggling to push him away as he took advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss, his tongue beginning to explore, brushing confidently against her own. Choking on a whimper, she  _ bit _ \--the grip on her wrist tightened painfully as the arm supporting her fell away, her captured limb twisting as she fell.

“Ow! Damnit, why’d you do that?!”

Letting out a yelp of her own as she landed hard on one hip, Sharya glared at him; she could taste blood, as vividly as she had tasted Larec, and fear was running icy fingers down her spine the longer he kept hold of her. “You kissed me!”

“I was just trying to prove a point,” the demon snarled, wiping a thin trickle of red from the corner of his mouth. “This isn't a dream! Do you always bite people when they kiss you?”

He finally released her, and she scrambled to her feet, tucking her arm to her chest as she put distance between them, just enough that the demon began to fade into the misty world around her. “Only if they deserve it,” she growled. “Now leave me alone!”

“I wish I could, but you’re the only one who knows I’m here. Please,” he added, the anger slipping from his tone. “I’ve been locked up so long, and all because I dared to argue with Lucifer. I just. I need to talk with him, make him understand…”

Gritting her teeth, Sharya reluctantly looked back from where she had started walking away. “Do it the next time he goes upstairs,” she offered; the attic felt just as much of the demon as his office had, but in her desperation to stay hidden, she had ignored it and gone up anyway. “We’re not really on speaking terms, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t listen to me any more than he did before.”

_ Force dammit. _ Sighing heavily, she came to a halt, arms folded across her chest. “What do you think I can do to change his mind that you can’t?”

“You-you’re going to help?”

“Just. Tell me already.”

\---

Groaning, Sharya peeled her eyelids open. That. Was possibly one of the worst nights she’d had since arriving here. 

Pacts. She was going to have to make pacts with demons, selling a little bit more of her darkened soul with each one, until she could free the one in the attic to talk with his. Brother? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember what the social media sites had told her about the family she was living with. 

Ugh.

Summoning the comli--D.D.D.--to her hand, she scrolled through the messages until she reached Leviathan’s.

**Sharya:** (09:53) Fine.

**Sharya:** (09:54) I’ll help you get your money from Mammon.

**Sharya:** (09:55) But touch me again and I’ll break every one of your games.

**Sharya:** (10:02) What the hell is a Q&A podcast?

  
  


~fin


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya does some bonding with Levi and Asmo.

Levi answering her question about podcasts somehow led to him making her watch a large amount of the movies of the Tale of the Seven Lords, which led to her perched on the square ottoman next to the bath-tub he apparently slept in, balancing a flat box on one knee as she painstakingly picked the olives off her pizza, passing them to the demon by the handful.

“Your name is so anime,” he said at one point between discs, orange eyes more on her hair than her face. “It’s not fair. What kinda normie gets to name their kids such awesome things as Moonchaser?”

“Traders. Although,” she added, nibbling off the burned cheese on the edge of her pizza crust--it was perfectly crunchy, and she was already eyeing another slice. “I think mom and dad were smugglers before they became traders.”

“Huh? What, like the Lantern Light People?” 

“Not from here,” she reminded him. “What’re the lantern people?”

And so it went, the two cautiously trading information until Levi paused the current film; the nerves that he’d been radiating throughout the whole time were spiking, and his eyes locked onto a point behind her shoulder. “O-okay, so. Here’s the thing. Henry gets kidnapped in a few scenes, a-and he gets tortured by the Lord of Masks, and I don’t wanna trigger you but it’s sort of an important scene, but if you don’t want to watch it we don’t have to,” he said in a rush, leaving her to blink as she processed the small word flood. 

“Ah.” She glanced down at her almost empty pizza box, fingers tapping along one edge. She’d had a feeling that was where the plot of this one was going, but to have it confirmed... “Maybe next time,” she finally said, scooting to the edge of the ottoman and holding out a hand. “Gimme your box, I’ll go dump it in the trash.” 

“Wa-wait, you mean… y-you’re coming back? Why?”

Fixing him with a slightly impatient look, she wiggled her fingers in a ‘give it here’ gesture. “I’m going to have to live here. I’d rather not be terrified of _all_ of my roommates if I can help it.”

The demon still seemed confused, but let her take his empty box with her out to the hall, where she only began relaxing when the door closed behind her, the tension that had tightened her shoulders lessening as she brushed fingers along the handle of the knife she’d brought with her. It had taken hiding the thing in her sash to convince herself to go to Leviathan’s room with the house almost empty again, her D.D.D. firmly in hand the entire time she’d been in there. She remained undecided as to which of them had been more nervous, though; Leviathan’s emotions were rapid-fire, fluctuating between jealous love, bitter anger, and an almost-worship depending on what he was talking about, with a very strong undercurrent of anxiety. Either way, she was more than ready for a nap; last night’s dream… meeting had left her just as worn out as if she hadn’t slept at all, while her arm still ached from how the demon had held her by it, no matter that the skin was unbruised. 

Releasing a sigh, and making sure that her comlink was secured next to the knife, she headed for the stairs that led to the entrance hall; Asmodeus had messaged her halfway through her pizza, saying that her clothes were almost there. He turned out to be right; just outside the arched doorway, she found a carefully built pyramid of squishy plastic packages, and she grabbed them with a thought, letting them trail behind her. It took but a moment to toss the grease-stained boxes away and hurry back to her room, suddenly eager to see what she’d ordered in person.

\---

“Wake up, lovely, we need to finish your shopping~”

Grunting, Sharya pulled the hood of her new shirt lower over her eyes. “No one’s here,” she shouted back.

“Then who answered me?” The polite knocking on the door continued, Asmodeus apparently bound and determined to get her out of bed. “It’s only one store, and then we can come home~ Oooh, or get tea and cupcakes at Madam Scream’s, they’re simply to _die for~”_

Squinting an eye open, she shot a look at the door, considering. 

“They better be _good_ cupcakes,” she told him when she opened it a few minutes later, boots on and D.D.D. tucked into a pocket, the knife hidden underneath the mattress. She had a very strong feeling that she wouldn't be able to keep it out of sight while trying on bras, and the absence of it made her miss her lightsaber all the more.

He tilted his head and smiled, sunset eyes gleaming. “I never lie about desserts, dear. Ooh? Is this what we talked about? Give us a twirl, I wanna see~” 

Taking her by the hand, Asmodeus had her turn around so he could see the back of the shirt, and the green dragon embroidered on it. The creature wasn’t entirely the right colors, or even kind--Larec’s tattoo was a white-maned, snakelike beast with gold-lined scales and a dark red belly, and while the lithe winged one on her back was the right shade of green, the belly was sandy gold and the eyes deep blue. It still felt right to have the thing wrapped around her, a reminder of home that she was able to cuddle into, that was the same size as one of his tunics. 

“You are utterly _adorable_ in this,” Asmodeus cooed, pausing to lift the back of the hood before releasing her and stepping back. “Oh, I’m so glad you picked it, you are going to get so many likes on Devilgram!”

“Why would I be on that?”

“Because you’re going to be out with me, and I never let down my followers on shopping trips~”

\---

Asmodeus had only been joking a little; he tried on as much or more lingerie than she did, happily explaining things faster than the tiny pink-skinned demon helping them could, as well as making sure that she was clothed or not in frame when he posed. The honor of her first picture on Devilgram was saved for after, when they stopped at the cafe/bakery where Asmodeus ordered one of every kind of cupcake they had, determined to find her favorite. (It turned out to be the terrorberry; rich dark chocolate cake with some kind of sweet, tart berry mixed into the buttercream that she managed to get all over her nose while eating it. That picture he gleefully sent to the house chat rather than posting on the holosite.)

The entire time, Sharya kept her senses strained to the fullest, intensely aware of how the demons were reacting to the sole human in their midst; the emotions echoing around her ranged from interest to disgust to scorn, even apathy. Some of them didn't acknowledge her even as they talked with Asmodeus, while others felt almost hungry when she looked at them; she refused to pay outward attention to the ones that watched her with a different kind of hunger, instead sticking firmly to Asmodeus’ side, all too aware of how much weaker she was compared to the demons. 

To say that she was relieved when he finally declared himself satisfied and ready to head home would be an understatement; she slumped into the front seat of the car, carefully buckling herself in around a box holding the uneaten cupcakes; the demon had ordered Beelzebub a twenty-four dozen count of cupcakes, which took up most of the backseat.

“I can’t believe Levi allowed a human into his fortress of solitude! He’s never done that before,” Asmodeus was saying as he backed out of the tiny lot, one arm casually slung over the back of her seat so he could see. “Except with my dear Solomon, of course. They’re both such nerds over that Seven Lords thing.”

“Solomon?” 

“Oh, yes, you haven’t met him yet. He’s our other human exchange student."

“He’s not at the house, though,” she questioned, glancing up at him. 

“He can take care of himself, so he’s in with the celestial students at Purgatory Hall. That’s closer to campus, by the way, but you’ll meet all of them at some point this week. Lucifer really let you off easy, giving you so many days out of class, but I don’t envy the amount of homework…..”

At the mention of the school, however, she stopped listening, only barely making noises that could be interpreted as ‘still listening’ and her gaze dropped to the floorboards; the dread that had been under the fear and panic and hopeless despair finally rose to the forefront of her thoughts, dragging anxiety up with it. 

“....Sharya?” 

“Huh?” Startled a little, she looked up, rewinding what she could remember of Asmodeus’ cheerful chatter. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Dredging up a smile, she tried to lie, “Just a little tired.”

The demon raised a delicate brow but turned back to the road. “We’re almost home, lovely. If you want, you can take a nap before dinner.”

“That’s… probably a good idea,” she said softly, head dropping to lean against the window.

\---

When she got back to her room, there was a uniform hanging on the back of her door, a feminine version of the one that Lucifer and his brothers had worn at the school; a short grey jacket with the same medallion and red capelet at the shoulders, females apparently got a skirt as well as the green button shirt. When she looked, she found folded overtop the skirt was a pair of black stockings and a long, pale violet tie.

She glared at it and then threw it all into the closet alongside the bags holding her new undergarments; taking her boots off but leaving the hoodie on, she curled back into her corner, the door securely locked as she buried her face in her crossed arms. 

  
  


~fin


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharya makes her pact with Mammon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just realised i should have said something at the start of all this. 
> 
> this fic meandars around the cannon timeline. which means some things won't line up, and that i get to be creative with some of the pact deals. that are now impossible to accurately convey.

It was close to midnight when Sharya finally made herself leave her room again, this time heading straight for the kitchen; she’d ended up skipping dinner in favor of a shower, hiding under the pounding spray of water while the demons ate, staring almost blankly at the suds swirling down the drain. She didn’t know how she could get out of going to the school, no matter how much she wanted to avoid it; Lucifer had messaged her, letting her know when to set an alarm, and that Mammon would be taking her to and from campus, heavily implying that if she didn’t go with the second-eldest that _he_ would be escorting her instead. 

The thought of concealing herself in the force occurred to her more than once as she waited for the house to quiet; she might be able to slip away from RAD after arriving with Mammon, make her way back to the house instead of staying where she would be surrounded by unfamiliar demons. She didn’t know (or care) if there was some kind of attendance system that the school used, but surely it wouldn’t be too hard to escape?

She still hadn’t decided by the time her stomach growled at her, the day’s cupcakes and pizza a distant memory. As she had expected--she’d heard the tell-tale creak of the floorboard only a little while ago--Beelzebub was already shoulders deep in the coldstore when she walked in, and so distracted by his search that he didn’t notice her until she asked, “Are there any cupcakes left?”

“Hmrph?” Pulling mostly out of the massive appliance, Beelzebub blinked and slurped something long and wiggling into his mouth. “Cupcakes?” A pained look crossed his face, and he ducked back in, rummaging around. “I made sure to leave you one,” he said after a moment. “But it might be. Missing some icing.”

Halfway through hauling herself onto the table behind the red-head, Sharya paused. “Missing?”

“Only a little! And there’s some stuff leftover from dinner, I thi--no, wait, no, I already ate that.” The cupcake that Beelzebub finally located for her was one of the terrorberries, and, as he’d said, the pile of buttercream on top was somewhat shorter than the ones she’d had earlier; instead of a towering pink column five or more centimeters tall, it was half that size, a suspicious swipe taken from the top. “I used a spoon,” he hurried to reassure her, passing it over, “so you don’t have to worry about germs.”

That… hadn’t even crossed her mind yet. “Thanks, I think?” Peering around the demon, she tried to see into the coldstore, carefully peeling the wrapper off. “Is there sandwich stuff in there?”

Her question prompted another search, Beelzebub pulling out items as he named them. “Let’s see… Smoked shadow hog, ice lettuce, cursed cheddar…Sorry, there’s not much left. The little Ds need to go shopping again, and get more human safe things, the rest of this might kill you.” 

“I hope there’s a label or something for that,” she muttered, going back to her cupcake from where she had stared at him.

“Usually, yeah.” He trailed off as he dug back in. “And here’s the bread. Want me to put one together for you?”

Remembering how much he’d eaten while cooking earlier, Sharya shook her head. “I’ll do it. Thanks, though.”

“No problem.” After making a satisfied noise, Beelzebub shut the door, one arm loaded with strange-looking fruits. “This should keep me going for a few hours. G’night.” 

Waving goodbye, she went back to the crumbling remains of chocolate cake and buttercream, eventually tugging the things he’d left on the counter closer to her. There was enough for one sandwich, and the meat did indeed have a smokey flavor to it, although it was gamier than she was expecting. It didn’t take long for her to decide to hop off the table and search for more food herself, even though she had to climb onto a chair to reach the upper half of the appliance; why she had to get her mother’s height and coloring, but her father’s curly hair, she’d never understand, and she grumbled as she summoned one over. The thing was far too big for someone who barely reached one-point-five-four meters.

As Beelzebub had said, there wasn’t much; she found a rock hard gallon of ice cream hidden behind a stack of empty, frost-covered ice trays, and shoved both to the side, only to stop and blink before pulling a solid chunk of ice closer to examine it. Inside was a flat black card. 

Squinting, she stared for a moment, before turning and dropping it to the kitchen floor, where it shattered. Shifting so that she could sit on the chair, one leg curled under her, she pulled out her D.D.D. and scrolled. 

**Sharya:** (00:45) I just found a card with Mammon’s name on it in the kitchen. 

She paused long enough to take a picture and then added, _Is it the one we need?_

**Leviathan:** (00:46) You found it?! 

**Leviathan:** (00:46) Don’t move, I’ll be right there!

\----

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” Sharya growled, flushing as she unzipped her hoodie. “Why does it have to be _there?”_

“Look, I gotta put a mark on ya somewhere, or else the pact don’t take. An’ besides, I’m yer first, it’s only right that everyone knows with a single look that ya got a pact with the Great Mammon.” 

“But does Levi have to be here too?!” 

At least Leviathan seemed as embarrassed as she was, even if he wasn’t the one currently peeling his clothing off in front of two near-total strangers. “Yes,” he said firmly, even as his gaze rested anywhere but on her. “I have to make sure that stupid Mammon does it right.”

Mammon shot him a glare at that. “I done this before, Levi, so shut up. An’ turn around, this is private.” The annoyed frown creasing his brow eased as he looked back at Sharya, concern flickering across his face. “You ready?”

“No.” Still, she huffed out a sigh, and tugged the collar of her shirt further down, baring her collarbones as she tilted her head up and to the side. “Let’s get this over with already.”

“Okay, so, just. Try an' relax,” the white-haired demon said, scooting closer to her on the bed and lifting a hand, fingers hovering over her shoulder for a moment. “I’m not gonna lie, it’ll hurt.”

Like she expected anything less, no matter that she was trading a credit card instead of a piece of her soul. Tilting back down, she fixed him with a hard stare. “How much?”

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “Umm…”

Leviathan shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I’m not Satan; I don’t know human pain tolerances.”

_Why would Satan know that,_ she wanted to ask, but then Mammon turned back to her, his other hand going to her waist. “Eh, it shouldn’t be too bad? Hold still, ‘kay?”

With that he tugged gently, bringing her close enough for him to bend down, nuzzle his nose against her, and Sharya sucked in a breath, belatedly turning her head; she wanted to pull away, her heart thumping, but Mammon’s grip was unshakable, no matter that his fingers were only lightly holding her. He didn’t notice; energy was rising around them, breath warm on her skin as he released a long, slow sigh, giving him the suggestion of being _more_ than the human-shaped being in front of her, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the flesh between her collarbones. It made him feel larger, darker, horns rising from his hair, slender fluttering wings and a thin whipping tail solidifying behind him for the briefest of seconds between heartbeats; before her eyes finished widening, his lips had spread. Razor-sharp teeth closed, and a flash of blazing pain sank into her, burning through skin and muscle and _bone,_ scorching the deepest parts of her, reaching deeper than even the numb bonds that linked her to her lovers. 

The sound that escaped her wasn’t a cry of pain, however; a gasping, breathless moan left her instead, a sound that echoed in her ears. She didn’t care who heard it and simply tried to push harder against that searing pain/pleasure, grasping desperately for something to cling to until it faded.

Mammon was smirking at her when she was finally able to force her eyelids open, tilted to watch with gleaming eyes from where she’d tangled fingers into soft, fluffy hair to keep him close, her other clenched in the buttery leather of his jacket. “Now _that,”_ he whispered, “is what I like ta hear.”

“MAMMON, DON’T BE GROSS!” Leviathan’s horrified shriek made both of them jerk, Sharya all but shoving the white-haired demon away as she yanked her hoodie closed. 

“Wha-why-dammit, Levi, we were havin’ a moment,” Mammon growled back, barely clinging to the edge of the bed. “This is why I didn’t want you here!”

“Okay, it’s done,” she interrupted, ignoring the heat flooding her face and the way she was shaking. “Both of you, get out!”

“Aw man, I was hopin’ for cuddles!”

“Don’t care! Out!”

After both demons had left--Mammon complaining even as he moved towards the door, and Leviathan growling about his ‘Seraphina’ figure--Sharya hesitantly pulled the edges of her hoodie apart, glancing down at her chest before cursing, and making her way to the ‘fresher and the large mirror there.

Instead of the bloodied bitemark she’d expected, what she found was an elaborate white circle on the pale skin between her collarbones; a golden symbol was at the center of it, and she ran fingertips across the sunburst-like pattern, shivering at how pleasure twisted inside her. That. Was very unexpected. 

Later, curling into her corner, she couldn’t stop herself from covering the mark with one hand. She’d always been fascinated by tattoos, but she was still undecided as to how she felt about this one; what would Larec say when she showed back up with not only one, but six such marks on her skin? From demons, no less? 

And would each of them feel like this, make her moan helplessly as their marks were burned into her very soul?

_~fin_


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simeon, meet Sharya. Sharya, Simeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll know how angels are supposed to look? like, biblically? 
> 
> yeah. 
> 
> also: british english v. american english wut?
> 
> grammerly is soooo done with me.

Her problem of how to avoid the school for another day solved itself. Sort of.

 _“Sharya, you’re gonna get us both in trouble!”_ Small and tinny through the speaker, Mammon’s voice turned desperate, almost pleading. _“You don’t wanna make Lucifer madder than he already is with you, do ya?”_

“I don’t care,” she growled back. She’d already shouted at him through the door, driving him away with the pact they now shared, but that hadn’t stopped him from blowing her D.D.D. up. “I’m not going, so leave me alone already!”

It was different than using the force to compel him; usually mind-tricking someone made them… not fall asleep, exactly, but force them into an almost hypnotic state. Using the pact made the sunburst between her collarbones heat, a gentle burn that tried to make her breath catch in her throat; it was almost like calling the dark, being swallowed by a power that whispered of all it could offer if only you surrendered, gave yourself over completely to it. Larec had been teaching her how to control that seductive energy, channel it without giving in or letting it take over, and she hoped--somewhat desperately, if only for the sake of her sanity--that the same principles applied to pact magic.

Mammon was cursing even as the line dropped, anger and worry mixing together in his voice, and Sharya resisted the urge to throw the device, letting it instead bounce down gently beside her. A glance at the door--barricaded with everything that wasn’t nailed down as well as being locked--and she buried her face in her arms again, trying to ignore how she was shaking. 

Lucifer had all but promised that he would take charge of her if she didn’t go with Mammon today.

By doing this, she was potentially destroying any and every chance she had to help the demon in the attic, putting both herself and his plan in danger.

But she couldn’t stand it; her shields were so worn that she’d felt the demons as they’d awakened, each one adding another discordant jangle to the force, making it so she could barely concentrate through the emotional and mental static. 

How could they not sense this, not realise what they were doing to the flow of energy around them? 

“Please,” she whimpered, one hand rising to dig into her hair, struggling to focus on _something_ other than the overwhelming tide, “please, leave me alone…”

_Force, please just let me meditate…_

\---

Not even an hour had passed when her D.D.D. lit up again, the eldest brother’s name popping up on the screen. 

She jumped at the sound, head snapping up to stare at it; she’d not managed to sink into the polluted embrace of the force at all, had only barely been able to patch her shields so that the brothers weren’t so close to her, and her hand trembled as she grabbed the device. 

_“You had better have a very good explanation as to why you did not arrive with Mammon this morning.”_

She swallowed, grabbed at her hair again as she curled inwards. “I ca-can’t meditate,” she forced out. “My shields--they’re _breaking,_ I can’t block a-any of you out, and I can’t _fi-fix_ them, not like this!”

_“What shields are you talking about?”_

“Mine,” she replied quickly. “I. I’m an empath, and this place--I can’t meditate, and if I can’t meditate, I can’t repair them, and I’m stuck feeling everything!”

There was silence on the other end, as if Lucifer was taking a breath. _“What would help?”_

“It-it’s so loud, you all _feel_ so much…” 

_“Very well. I will be home shortly. Remove the barricade from your door.”_

Flinching at that--how did he even know?--Sharya opened her mouth to respond; before she could, Lucifer hung up. 

\---

She waited until she felt him approaching the house to begin shifting the furniture, the growingly familiar aura of the demon sparking with frustrated annoyance and offended pride; she put the last chair back into place at the dining table just as he knocked at her door. The two sharp raps echoed painfully in her head, making her twitch and pull her hoodie tighter around her. “Come in.”

Lucifer barely waited for her to get the words out, the door opening to reveal that he was dressed in the same knee-length jacket she could remember from before; he gave her a cold look, and stepped to the side, as if someone was following him, and she felt her Jedi mask crack a little when a shadow darkened the door; whoever it was, she couldn’t even sense their presence until they had passed the doorframe, glancing around curiously. “Sharya, this is Simeon. He’s one of the two Celestial students you would have met had you made it to class today. Simeon, meet the other human student.”

The being that entered her room was slender, with skin darker than Mammon’s, and short dark hair that fell into light blue eyes; she wanted to blink at his attire, at the bared shoulders and hipbones, but she was immediately distracted by the _feel_ of him, something inside relaxing even as something else tightened.

Just as bright as any Jedi she’d ever met, he shone in the force with a tempered radiance that was all too familiar; Celestial realm? No, surely not--he _had_ to be a master, the way he held himself was too similar to the wisest of the masters on Tython, so at one with himself that nothing could possibly fluster him-- “What are you,” she whispered, unable to keep from staring, or her hands tightening on her forearms in sudden fear.

If this being was a master… He would be well within his rights if he decided to kill her.

The easy smile fading from his face, Simeon tilted his head a little, brow crinkling. “I’m an angel. Why do you ask?”

His presence had remained calm at the question, but... “You don’t look like any diathim I’ve ever heard of.”

Frown growing, he looked at Lucifer; the demon’s expression soured, although she couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed by her question or Simeon’s. “What did you not tell me, Lucy?”

_Lucy?_

“I’ve told you not to call me that. And if I’m correct, she’s from one of Father’s early projects.” 

“Ah.” Turning back to her, Simeon’s grin brightened again. “You’re very far from home, then.”

“...You could say that,” she said at last, gaze locking on Lucifer; she’d still not moved from her corner, but he’d reached out a hand, was closing the door with him _inside_ the room, and she stiffened, lips parting as she tried to decide how to politely demand he leave. Not that she wanted to be alone with this shining not-angel, but she would rather not have the demon in here as well. 

“I apologize, but if you could leave us alone for a bit, it would help. You’re rather edgy today.” While the look Simeon fixed on Lucifer was still pleasant, his voice had cooled just a little. “And I believe there is a council meeting soon, is there not?”

“You are incorrect,” the demon said, red eyes narrowing, “it’s tomorrow.”

“Ah, my mistake then. I’ll come find you when we’re done. See you later.” 

Shooting him a glare, Lucifer pulled the door open again; he gave her a look as well, as if daring her to say anything. She did.

“‘Bye, Lucy,” she called, forcing a cheerful grin as she waved. At least the demon waited until the door had closed to release the flare of annoyance that had flickered in his eyes, and then she was free to stare up at Simeon, the smile dropping from her lips. “Why are you here?”

For his part, Simeon looked amused at her borrowing the nickname and not bothered at all by her suddenly flat tone. “Lucifer asked me to come,” he said. “May I sit?”

Instead of taking a chair or the bed, he settled onto the rug covered floor a few meters away once she nodded, legs crossed comfortably as he leaned back on one gloved hand. “He said that you needed a buffer, and I can provide that, if you’d like to try.”

What she really needed was to be at home in her lovers’ arms, somewhere she felt safe, and knew the feel and flow of the force, could trust it not to seep sticky pollution into her soul. “It might help,” she answered after taking a breath that wanted to stick in her throat. “They’re. They’re so loud, and I can’t meditate in this... hell.”

Letting out a sigh, Simeon’s eyes dropped to the patterned rug underneath him. “They used to be much quieter. Not that knowing helps you now.” There was empathy in his voice as he continued, “Please, let me know if anything I do alarms you. I do not know all of your background, but I don’t wish to scare you.”

“That’s the most reassuring thing I’ve heard since getting here,” she decided. “What are you planning to do?”

He smiled again, straightening and closing his eyes. “Become a shield.”

Energy rose around them, and she instinctively cringed before registering what it actually felt like; gentle and light, it was like being in the heart of a Jedi temple, making her eyes prickle and her heart stop for an achingly long moment. She’d never expected to feel this again, had given up the hope of being able to return to the order that had raised her, and to be surrounded by the same kind of warm presence after so long in the dark… Her heart started after she forced herself to breathe, swallow down the tears that had begun to blur her sight at this unexpected surprise. Her first breath was little more than a soft gasp, her second stronger, and she closed her eyes the better to focus, to remake the mask that had broken at Simeon’s display.

There was… _Something_ unfurling from the being in front of her, spreading wide and intangible from his back; she sensed it, felt the thing curl against the walls of the room, somehow cushioning it from the realm it was a part of. Looking through the force, she saw _wings;_ multiple pairs of feathered appendages, with brilliant opalescent shapes covering them. At the centre of the wings, there was movement; it didn’t have the motion of a chest rising and falling with every breath, although it was just as steady, a blindingly white pillar of flame surrounding the turning, twisting thing that had replaced Simeon.

The longer she looked at it, however, the more her head began splitting; it felt like staring into an unshielded reactor, and she shut off her force-sight with a cry, curling into herself in an effort to hide from that incredible burning energy. 

Her pained exclamation cut through the feeling of being cradled by light, the room going still and echoingly silent; it didn’t help the migraine abruptly clawing at the inside of her skull, and she scrambled blindly for her hood, yanking it down over her face to muffle the soft yellow light of the lamps. Oh _force,_ she’d almost forgotten how much they hurt; it’d been a while since her last one, and she didn’t even have any of the medications that could stop them.

Sharya whimpered when someone called her name, flinched at the hand that touched her; he’d warned her at least, but she didn’t want to answer the worried sound, didn’t want the vibrations of her own words to reverberate in her ears. So she swallowed down the just-as-sudden nausea and nodded, did her best to follow the guiding hand and shuffle sideways until her head was cradled on his lap. 

“You were not supposed to be able to see that.” Simeon kept his voice to a soft murmur, lightly resting hands at her head and shoulder. “I’m sorry; if I had known, I would have warned you not to look.” 

Not like that would have stopped her in the first place. “I think Lucy forgot… to tell you some things about me,” she whispered, cringing at each word. 

A thread of amusement made its way through the worry and guilt holding her. “I think you’re right.” 

They were silent for a moment, Simeon petting her through the thick fabric of her hoodie while she fought to breathe around the migraine, to ignore the icicle-pain in her eyes and the echoing of every tiny sound in her skull. 

“I could heal it,” he offered after one particular stab made her flinch bodily, legs jerking closer to her chest. “I only need your permission.”

He could take away the pain? Not leave her to suffer through hours of agony as she tried to sleep it off, unable to concentrate enough to deal with it herself? “Please get rid of it,” she begged. 

“Alright, lamb. I need to move your hood, is that okay?”

At her nod, it was tugged up, and she twisted her eyes shut, controlled the hand that wanted to cover her face against the light. Fingers touched her hair, stroking it from her forehead before two fingertips pressed at her temple; he’d removed one of his gloves, and his skin was warm on hers. Soft heat flowed into her from the touch, easing the ache from her in gentle waves, until it was little more than a memory; she nearly sobbed once it was gone, going limp on his lap. _Sweet, sweet relief._

The warm fingers left her, and she reluctantly began pulling away, using her sleeve to dry the pained tears from her face; being held by him was like being held by Granya, throwing her back to when she’d been a padawan. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing less than I should have done. But Sharya,” He didn’t continue until she looked up. “How did you see me?”

Going by Lucifer’s reaction, it was likely that Simeon wouldn’t understand a one-word answer either. “I used the universe’s energy. I wanted to see what was happening, so I told it, and. I did.”

It was like watching a droid power cycle; his head tilted, blue eyes narrowing for the briefest of seconds as he processed her words and then widening. “The universe’s energy,” he said faintly, giving his head a small shake as if to get rid of the shock. “Ah. Yes. Lucifer definitely failed to mention that.”

“Did he say anything about the empathy,” she asked curiously, settling back with a thump and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“He did talk about that, at least. As well as some of what you went through before arriving here.” The same uncomfortable look from before creased his face, and he looked away slightly, gaze going distant. “You are… very injured from it. At deeper levels than the physical.” He focused back on her, his frown growing. “The wounds would eventually heal, but if what I’m reading is correct, it could take much of your lifetime.” 

She blinked, confused; her body still recovering would explain some things--she probably should have been put into a kolto tank as soon as Larec had released her from the containment field, the care that he’d provided after simply not enough to undo hours of sustained damage--but something other than physical? Simeon wasn’t talking about her shields, was he? “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What was done to you… it severed connections,” he began hesitantly. “Fractured fundamental parts of you.”

It was Sharya’s turn to look away, to scoot backward until she could lean on the wall, curl her knees to her chest again; shame twisted inside her, mixing with an angry, bitter hurt. “H--it only finished what I started,” she made herself say. “I all but chose this.”

“I sincerely doubt that. Please look at me,” he added after a moment; just over the edge of her sleeve, she saw one of his hands shift, as if he wanted to reach out and comfort her again. “You were a victim, and no matter what victims are told, they are _never_ , _ever_ to blame for what happens to them. Sharya, what happened to you was not your fault. You are never to blame yourself for something that you had absolutely no control over.”

Those words hurt, making her heart twist in her chest, the bitter anger flaring as guilt joined the mix. He didn’t--couldn’t--understand everything that had happened to her, not from what little Lucifer might have told him; he shouldn’t be using that tone of voice, as if she hadn’t orchestrated her own fall by choosing over and over to do whatever she had to in order to find Lira. Burning tears started to leak down her cheeks, and she shook her head, breath hitching. “Do-don’t say that,” she whispered, eyes clenching shut. “You don’t know an-anything about me…”

“I know enough from seeing your aura. You are kind, and sensitive, and brave, and have been treated very badly.” She felt him scoot closer as his voice grew softer, still sounding so convinced. “So badly that it left darkness wrapped around you like a strangling vine; even so, you still shine as bright as one of the host.”

She couldn’t get out the words--her voice had locked up, frozen behind disbelief at hearing him say that--so she shook her head again, rejecting the angel and his compassion; the only darkness inside her was her own, but she wasn’t brave. She was stupid, and stubborn, and had failed the biggest mission she had ever been given, failed to save her sister and herself. 

“It’s true. This darkness--” she froze as something ran across her bonds, eyes popping open at the strange feeling “--does not belong to you. It was tied to you, on a level as deep or deeper than this.” Another feather-light touch to the dead, shredded ends of her bond with Granuille made her cringe. “I can remove it, and heal the damage done. It would take time, but I would not offer if I couldn’t do it.”

She couldn’t stop herself from staring, from pressing back into the wall; _remove_ them? _Break_ her bonds, shatter them and leave her even more alone in this literal hell? “No!” Her voice was nearly a shout, and she curled back into a ball as she repeated herself a little more quietly, “No, I’m--no. I’m _not_ going to let you take them, I don’t _care_ how dark they are.” 

Drawing back at her exclamation, Simeon blinked once, twice, and then nodded. “My apologies; instead of helping, I seem to be tripping all over myself.” A faint smile spread his lips as he continued, “How about we start again?" 

“My name’s Simeon, and I’m an angel; a protector of humanity, and a light against the darkness, and I was chosen to help unite the three realms.”

 _Yeah, this definitely feels like school already,_ she thought, letting her head drop back into her arms for a second. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her mask back on, adding a weak grin as she looked up. “Sharya Moonchaser; I’m an empath, able to use the universe’s energy, and I was raised to be a guardian for the Galactic Republic.” There was no getting rid of the bitterness in her voice, and she paused before sighing. “Unfortunately, I had to give that up. And now I’ve been kidnapped to help with this same mission.” 

He seemed bewildered by her wording but didn’t comment on it, instead saying, “It’s nice to meet you. Are you ready for another shot at this?”

\---

Some hours later, when she had rebuilt and reinforced her shields with the angel a silent, brilliant light next to her, Simeon made another offer; a spell that she could activate any time she needed it, to filter the force in her room, and make it so that she could meditate without his being there.

“You can do that,” she asked incredulously, staring up at him. “How?”

Giving her a smile, he moved to the door. “With a sigil.” Calling on that same comforting energy, he lightly dragged a finger across the wood, as if writing something; even though she resisted the urge to look through the force, she still saw faint sparkling glimmers following the digit. The sparkles flared when he rested his palm flat against the invisible symbol he’d drawn, making her blink away dim afterimages; once again, it felt like her room was cradled by light, as if it _wasn’t_ in the Devildom, a clean, sweet smell here-and-gone as he lifted his hand. “Done,” he said, turning to her and beckoning. “To activate it, touch here-” he shifted aside so that she could join him, her gaze moving between angel and door before she raised a hand to touch the same place “-and tap once. To deactivate it, tap twice.”

Experimentally, she tapped once, and then twice; just like flipping a switch, energy rose and then fell, the force around her feeling as pure as Tython before disappearing into the sticky sweetness she was reluctantly getting used to. Releasing a breath, Sharya stepped back, arms around her middle; she immediately wanted to reactivate it, and it was an effort to not reach out and tap the sigil again. “How long will it last? And can I leave it on all the time?”

“The brothers might not enjoy it,” he said after a moment of thinking, “but it’ll last on its own for a number of months, and I can renew it whenever required. They gave you a D.D.D., right?” The device was half-buried in her corner, and she nodded, absently flicking her fingers to summon it; Simeon’s eyebrows rose when it flew to her hand. “That is… going to take some getting used to,” he muttered. “I, ah, am not very familiar with these.” He patted at his trousers, finally coming up with his own and giving her a sheepish grin. “I’ve figured out how to text, but my own number is still a mystery to me. Do you know how to find it?”

Bemused--did the Celestial realm not have comlinks of any kind?--Sharya took his device, navigating quickly to the contacts and adding her number before switching back to her own, double-checking before saving it and giving the angel his back. “Again, thank you for doing this,” she said, tucking the device into her pocket. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this place, but. It feels a lot better now.”

The smile he gave her was bright and easy as he opened the door. “It’s no problem, I’m just glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

Halfway through the door, Simeon paused once more to glance at her, expression serious. “I do need to ask you one thing, though.” 

Tilting her head curiously, she stayed silent. She wasn’t going to promise anything until she knew what he was asking.

“You managed to see my true form,” he said. “It is. Not something that humans are meant to see. The true forms of demons, even more so. Please don’t use your vision around any of them, not even Mammon. Your pact with him will protect you somewhat, but you would still be hurt by it, and if you saw Lord Diavolo’s, it may kill you. I’m not saying this to frighten you,” he added hastily when she paled, one hand rising without her permission to cover the golden sunburst at her collarbones (the edges of her hoodie didn’t rise high enough to conceal the mark, and she’d seen his gaze flicker to it more than once in the time they’d spent together), “but to warn you. He wouldn’t mean to, but he _is_ destined to become the next king, and his lineage is incredibly old and very powerful. Do you understand?”

It was just like her master’s temple, then, and the dark wellspring beneath it. Swallowing, she dropped her eyes and nodded. “I’ll try.”

He didn’t look happy about her answer, and a hand twitched towards her. “Please do more than try, Sharya. I don’t want you hurt, and neither does Lord Diavolo.”

“Then he shouldn’t have brought me here,” she said after he left, head drooping as she turned from the door. “I want to go home…”

~fin


End file.
